Awakening Revamped
by Acherubis
Summary: What the title says: my own version of Awakening. Eventual Anders romance later. Rated M for violence and gore. Now broke down into some more chapters.
1. Arrival at the Vigil

**Arrival at Vigil's Keep**

It was night by the time the small traveling party passed the borders of the arling of Amaranthine. It was also raining – no, pouring – and it was cold; much colder than the new Commander of the Grey and his entourage were used to. Ioran cursed under his breath when his armored foot slipped on yet another wet and mud-covered stone on the road and for the umpteenth time wished he had never accepted the offer of heading the newly founded compound of the order in Amaranthine. It wasn't as if he had much of a choice, though. There was only one Fereldan warden left these days and said warden was sitting on the throne. King Alistair Theirin had been in a bit of a predicament finding a suitable commander for Vigil's Keep, preferably a native of Ferelden who would be better accepted by the populace of the arling and who would see to it that the _Fereldan_ compound was under _Fereldan_ rule.

Ioran still wished whoever brought his name into the game to the void. He did not even consider himself Fereldan anymore. Even though he and his sister had been born here, they spent thirteen years of their lives in Orlais. When they had been ten and seventeen, their father decided that he wanted to return to his home in Jader. Their mother, a native Fereldan, had died a year prior to their move and there was nothing that bound Henry Marais to the country anymore, especially since Orlesians were frowned upon due to the still fresh memory of the occupation.

He had been fairly happy with his position in Jader. His Commander made it quite clear, though, that things would not stay that way if Ioran refused the offer. Orlais and Ferelden still were not on the best of terms. Refusing the king's proposition would not exactly put an extra strain to the relationship but it would certainly not further it, either. If the man happened to be a simple warden, matters would have been easier but since he was not just a warden but the king of Ferelden… well, one did not refuse royalty, especially when they were vital for the cause.

Ioran had no illusions about what awaited them once they arrived at 'the Vigil' as people called it. On their short stop in West Hill, he met with the king, who was on his way to visit the Circle Tower and got a briefing about the general condition of the Grey in Ferelden as well as of his new residence and the political situation in Amaranthine.

It seemed the Keep was in a desolate state considering that the former Arl spent the last year of his life in Highever and did not care too much about the fortress anymore. He also heard that Arl Howe was deemed a traitor which caused the arling to fall to the wardens after the man's execution and the crowning of the new king. Since there had been no Commander as of date, however, repairs at the Keep went slow, supervised only by the current seneschal, a man by the name of Varel, he was told.

The king also stated that the situation among the Banns of the region was strained. The Keep may have fallen to the Grey Wardens but the question of the new Arl was still unanswered. The most logical decision would have been to give that position to the new commander as well but King Alistair had been reluctant to do so. Even though right now the Blight was still fresh in people's minds and the wardens were worshipped as heroes, he explained, it would not be wise to give too much power to just one individual. People tended to forget quickly and it was only a matter of time until they would start questioning the use and the power of the order again and an independent Arl would obviate such a reaction. Until a decision was made, seneschal Varel would execute the position of Arl and aid Ioran with any problem that might occur, be it of warden or political concern.

But all these things were secondary to another problem Ioran saw himself confronted with and that was the rebuilding of the order. For now, a contingent of Orlesian wardens was stationed at the Keep, some of which Ioran knew. They would remain there until he had found a reasonable number of recruits to take their places. For all he knew, the process of recruiting could take years. It was not that there were not enough volunteers, no. The wardens were heroes in the common folk's eyes and more than enough were reported who wanted to join the order. Not everyone was suited, though. A warden's life was a hard one even when there was no immediate danger of a Blight and there were some catches as well none of those volunteers knew about such as a shortened lifespan and the danger of not surviving the Joining. Not to speak about the difficulty of conjuring children and the nightmares that accompanied a warden's dreams almost every night.

Ioran sighed heavily and his eyes drifted to his sister who walked silently and stoically beside him. She was one of those who were eager to become a warden; had been since he joined the order shortly after their father's death. Time and again, Aislyn had pestered him to allow her to join as well and time and again he had refused. The last thing he had to promise Henry was that he would protect his younger sister and make sure that she was taken care of. Her wild ways had always been a thorn in the old man's flesh.

_She could make a good party with her looks if she decided to but no, there she goes scaring every suitor off with these horrible blades of hers._

Their father's complaint still rang in his ears even though he was dead for almost eight years now. The last thing Henry would have wanted was for his youngest to become a Grey Warden.

Most of the time, Ioran agreed with his father's opinion about that specific topic. Right now, however, he was glad that Aislyn was not one of those Orlesian wallflowers they always tried to make of her but a tough little spitfire and trained fighter. The trip to the Keep had not been an easy one and Ferelden was a harsh country in many aspects. A pampered, well-behaved young woman certainly would have had a hard time on the road where there were no luxuries. Things wouldn't be much better around the warden compound where she would constantly be surrounded by men of sometimes dubious character and with no servants to tend exclusively to her needs.

Ioran sighed again and cast another look at his sister whose eyes constantly roamed the darkness, hands fingering the hilts of the dual blades by her sides. Aislyn had been restless since they set foot on the dirt road that led the last few miles to Vigil's Keep. Every once in a while she turned to check on the cart that was trudging along behind them to see if the older woman up on the coachman's seat was still alright.

"Mhairi has an eye on her," he tried to comfort Aislyn, referring to the warrior-recruit they picked up in West Hill on the king's orders. His sister raised one eyebrow and gave him a look. He knew she did not trust the petite girl in the back and a girl she was, barely past adolescence, but the king insisted that she was a tough one and certainly a good support if she survived her Joining.

Knowing his sister, though, Ioran suspected that her mistrust did not have something to do with Mhairi's capability or the possible lack thereof. Aislyn would not have trusted the Maker himself if He chose to guard the cart.

The grey haired woman on the coach box had been like a mother to both of them after their natural mother's death. Although employed as a servant, Adele had always been treated as part of the family. Aislyn had an exceptionally strong bond with her. A fact that, Ioran assumed, was owed in great parts to Adele training her in the art of wielding two blades. Nobody knew where she got her skill or how she ended up as a servant but when she decided that she would take Aislyn on as a student, surprisingly not even his father dared to object the woman's intentions.

The last year in Jader, however, Adele's health began to dwindle. She insisted that they imagined things but both he and Aislyn noticed that their motherly servant tired sooner than normal and that her movements became slower and more careful than usual. They had been concerned that the trip to Ferelden would be too much of a strain for the older woman and that her condition would become even worse and especially Aislyn had been almost ill with worry.

"It is not the girl," she said after a long silence, referring to Ioran's earlier comment. "Something is… off. You feel it too, don't you?"

Ioran frowned and nodded. He had had the feeling of being watched the whole way to the Keep but he dismissed it due to the rain and the dirt and the general discomfort they all were feeling. That Aislyn had a similar notion made him suspicious now. Her instincts were better than his when such things were concerned – or at least used to be before he became a warden.

"We are almost there," Mhairi's voice came from behind and he shot her a short glance, nodding confirmation. He had no idea how the girl knew where they were – everything looked the same; dull and grey and dark – but she was a native from Amaranthine and if she did not know who would?

The pull behind his navel along with a dizzying nausea came almost simultaneously with the screams rising somewhere in the dark in front of them. Instantly, Ioran pulled out his sword and readied his shield, taking a battle stance. Aislyn beside him did the same.

"Lyn, stay with the cart! Mhairi, with me!" he bellowed over the sudden noise of more screams and the sound of clashing weapons. With one last look at his sister, he stormed off into the night, the warrior-recruit right on his heels.


	2. The First Encounter

**The First Encounter**

"Get to the back and lie down," Aislyn mouthed to the older woman as she jumped up on the coach box. Adele did not budge an inch. Aislyn saw dim light flickering along two slender blades similar to her own.

"You are in no condition to fight," she declared and pulled the woman up not too gently. They did not have time for this. "Now get back and don't move. I can handle this."

Adele gave a disapproving look but relented; not without muttering something about insult and ungrateful charges, though. It did not faze Aislyn too much. She was just glad the servant did as she was told without having to lead a discussion about it first.

Her eyes darted about frantically for any danger that might come their way but it was almost impossible to see further than a few steps in the heavy rain. It was also difficult to hear anything beyond the sounds of battle that filtered through from further up the road. It made Aislyn uneasy of what to expect.

For several minutes, she stood there on the cart, listening, watching as good as she could without anything to happen. The clashing of metal against metal became muffled, the cries and screams less distinct. They must have changed location then. She just hoped Ioran and the girl were alright. Her brother's reaction just before the screaming started had been a clear sign to her that this was not an ordinary attack by one of the many groups of bandits they encountered on the road occasionally. There had been no need to say anything. The look he shot her when he charged off had been proof enough. She knew they had to fight Darkspawn this time.

The thought made Aislyn's palms go sweaty and she grasped the hilts of her shortswords harder. She heard stories about those vile creatures but did not see one as of yet. Being the sister of a Grey Warden, she knew details about them others may not, though. Ioran made sure to tell her as much as possible to ensure she would not be unprepared in case she was ever to fight one. It had been a reasonable thought considering that a Blight had started in Ferelden and no one knew how far it would spread before it could be stopped – if it could be stopped at all.

But no story, no so detailed information could have prepared her for the sight of the creature that suddenly appeared beside her. Aislyn gasped in shock and almost lost her balance. It was massive. Plate armor covered a frame almost seven feet tall. The… _thing…_ held a curved blade in one hand and a spiked maze in the other. Its features looked vaguely human but the association was rendered obsolete the moment she became aware of the decayed teeth in a mouth without lips, the rotten flesh that clung to the bones and the pale, lifeless eyes that bulged in their sockets. It looked like death itself.

Aislyn could just stare, frozen in place with horror and disgust. The Darkspawn stared back, its head twitched from side to side like that of a gigantic snake, nostrils wide as it sniffed the air. A low rumble vibrated through its chest, maybe the equivalent of a laugh.

"Aislyn!"

Adele's sharp bark ripped her from her paralysis. Unfortunately, it also alerted the creature – a Hurlock, she assumed from what her fearstricken mind could remember of her brother's explanations. Its head snapped around in direction of the voice and a deafening roar made her ears ring. Adele stood upright in the back of the cart; eyes fierce, swords raised. She radiated an aura of danger Aislyn never saw on her before, like a she-wolf ready to protect her cubs.

The Darkspawn turned to face the other woman, feeling she was a greater threat than the younger one in the front. Sensing the creature's intention, Aislyn slashed at one thick arm to regain its attention. The attack did not do much harm since she had no real opening and only scratched along the metal of the bracer but it was enough to serve her cause. With a growl, the Hurlock spun back around and lashed out with the enormous maze, only barely missing her leg. Aislyn jumped back and hurled the first poison-flask she could get her hands on at the distorted face. She did not quite care what it was as long as it affected the monster in front of her in some way. A cloud of green smoke spread around its form and made the creature stumble back, the sounds it gave resembling something of a choke. Aislyn took her chance and jumped off the cart. Diving past an uncontrolled swing of the curved blade, she came up in the beast's back and sliced her swords through the massive neck in one fluent move. Black blood spurted from the opening and made her retreat hastily.

_Don't let it touch you! _

She clearly remembered Ioran's warning about the tainted blood of the Darkspawn. That particular information had been hammered into her head again and again. Even though she was pretty sure she received no wound that would allow the taint to grab a hold of her, she did not intent to take any risk.

The body remained upright for about twenty more seconds, weapons still tight in hand, stumbling about like a drunk before it finally went down with a sickening thud. Aislyn swallowed to get rid of the taste of bile that suddenly filled her mouth. She did not have time to think about the grueling sight for long, though, when a new sound came from the darkness; a high-pitched tone that hurt the ears and made her shudder. She cast a quick glance at Adele still standing in the cart. The grey-haired woman returned the look and pointed at a field to their left.

"There are more," she quietly said and Aislyn knew she was right. The sound came again, this time from the opposite direction and then again somewhere in her back. Aislyn finally recognized it for the signal it was. They were surrounded. At least three more Darkspawn lurked somewhere just beyond their field of vision.

Aislyn climbed back up the cart, positioning herself back to back with Adele.

"No condition to fight, huh?" she heard the other woman muttering under her breath. "I'll show you my condition, little one. Just let them come."

Had the circumstances been any less grave, she wouldn't have let the comment pass without a snarky remark of her own. As it was, though, she was glad that Adele was with her and ready to take on whatever would come their way. Maybe she had underestimated her former teacher, she grudgingly admitted to herself; maybe the woman was not as old and fragile as she thought.

Another squeal made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. What creature was able to make such a horrid sound?

The answer came unbidden and immediately. Out of nowhere a shadow appeared to her left, dark as the night and equally ugly. Sharp rows of fangs as long as her pinky finger snapped at her face while arms which seemed to have no joints lashed out at her middle. To each flailing limb there was a jagged blade attached. And the thing was _fast. _The first onslaught left a gash in her leathers right below her ribs. Aislyn only barely got her swords up for a parry when the second blade cut through her calf and made her cry out in pain.

"Off the cart!" Adele grunted in her back and a second later, lightning flashed and a wave of black smoke concealed them from the enemy. Aislyn felt herself being grabbed and dragged off the wagon. Her leg protested against the movement and she had to bite her lip to suppress another cry.

"What are these things?" she forced out through gritted teeth as they stumbled away from the road and into a nearby group of tall trees.

"Shrieks from the sound of it," Adele answered, gasping for breath. "They are fast and they come in packs. There have to be at least two more around."

As if to confirm her theory, the gut-wrenching scream sounded off again and made them jump. Leaves rustled all around them and then the darkspawn was there again, this time in the company of not two but three of its brothers. A wave of adrenaline washed through her veins.

_Don't let them get you off guard again! You've been training for this! You can do this! _

Aislyn took a deep breath and adjusted her stance.

_Just let them come._


	3. An Unexpected Ally

**An Unexpected Ally**

Ioran pulled his one-hander free from the skull of the massive ogre. His breath came in short, heavy gasps. He was a little surprised that they were still alive. When he saw the towering form of the ogre crash through the trees he had already seen himself lying in a broken heap on the ground and his soul gone to the Maker. How they managed to dispatch the behemoth was lost on him. Everything happened in a blur.

"Commander, are you alright?" Mhairi's voice came from somewhere to his right. She sounded equally out of breath but thankfully she was still alive. He managed a nod. His thoughts were in a jumble. How did this happen? Where were the other wardens? Why hadn't they been warned?

"I think these were the last out here", another voice joined in. It belonged to one of the soldiers of the guard they found among the skirmish at the gates; a tall man with dirty-blonde hair and feisty features. He saved their butts at least twice as they fought their way through an immense number of Darkspawn to get to the courtyard. Ioran had been impressed by his fighting spirit and he had been even more impressed when the man did not even flinch when the ogre came stomping their way

"What's your name, soldier?" he inquired, slowly catching his breath.

"Arik, ser."

"Well, Arik, thanks for the support. You saved our lives."

The soldier shrugged with a grin.

"That's my job, isn't it?"

This uncomplicated view of things almost caused Ioran to laugh. He already liked Arik. Aislyn would certainly like him, too.

Aislyn…

The thought of his sister made him aware that the situation was in no way safe yet, and that left a feeling of unease in his gut. They may have cleared the grounds but he had no idea what awaited them inside or how Aislyn and Adele were fairing back on the road.

"We may still need his help," Mhairi made herself known again, expressing his own concerns. "The Keep is not yet reclaimed and we don't know what happened to Aislyn and your servant."

Ioran looked at their new found companion, pondering his options. They needed to proceed. There could still be survivors inside the fortress. Any minute they lingered out here could be a minute too long for them.

"What would you want me to do, Commander?" Arik asked then, features serious again. Ioran hesitated for a moment before he forced himself to make a decision.

"Help my sister. Mhairi and I will be alright for the time being but I am worried Aislyn might be not. When you are convinced she's safe I want you to rejoin us. Maker knows what else we will encounter," he said with a look at the dead ogre next to him.

Arik did not question the order and immediately set out to find Aislyn and Adele. Forcing his gaze away from the massive corpse, Ioran grasped his shield that he had discarded sometime during the fight and motioned Mhairi to follow him.

While they walked, Ioran looked the girl over inconspicuously to check if she was hurt. She seemed to favor one leg a little more than the other but beside that she seemed to be alright as far as he could tell considering that both their armor was splattered all over with Darkspawn blood. He tried not to acknowledge the other spots on the ground that were covered in blood – mostly human – and the many dead soldiers around them. There were too many for this to be a regular attack. This had been an ambush.

The thought did not sit well with him. Darkspawn were not known for their cunning strategies. An ambush was not their way of fighting. In fact, they should not even be able of such an advanced tactic. Something was terribly wrong here and he itched to know what it was. But that had to wait until this place was safe again.

The temperature had dropped further and a thick mist started to gather on the ground, mercifully covering the ghastly sight there. The rain had lessened to a thin trickle but Ioran still felt every drop like an ice-cold needle on his face, obscuring his view. The heavy plate armor had long since adapted the outside temperature and drained the warmth of his body. His limbs were already becoming stiff again, now that the rush of battle subsided. Even though he dreaded the things that lurked in the depths of the Keep, Ioran was relieved when they reached the great portal that marked the entrance to the fortress. The inside promised to be warmer – and drier for that matter.

An eerie silence had settled over the estate with the end of the fights. Here and there, Ioran could still make out movements illuminated by torchlight; the pathetic few who were left of the guard tending to the wounded but even they did not make a sound, frightened and worn as they were.

Hence the calmness, the explosion that suddenly split the night seemed all the louder to their ears. It was potent enough to make the ground quiver beneath their feet.

"What in the Maker's name..?"

Ioran did not wait for Mhairi to finish the question. Already halfway up the stairs of the entrance, he took the rest of the way in a run, adrenaline pumping through his system and senses highly alert, his warden stamina lending him additional speed. He was not quite prepared for what greeted him as soon as he reached the guard post in front of the main hall. Heavy smoke clouded most of the space and almost immediately made him choke. Through the thick, fetid fume he spotted the flickering of fire in various places. The defense wall to one side – a sturdy stone construction about five feet in height – had been reduced to nothing more than rubble and from what he could see from his point by the door there were at least fifteen Darkspawn corpses scattered about the floor. Over everything Ioran heard a gravelly, triumphant laugh that clearly was not of Darkspawn origin. It quickly faded into deeper regions of the fortress, though, before he had time to call on the person obviously responsible for this display of destruction.

He would have liked to express his thanks to the mysterious demolition expert. If it had not been for him, Mhairi and he would have run straight into the pack and almost certainly into their doom, heavily outnumbered and utterly unprepared.

He listened to any sound that could betray an enemy left standing while slowly and carefully inching further into the building. They needed to crouch to evade the majority of the poisonous smoke. Hastily erected barricades blocked their path in some places along with more dead Darkspawn and forced them to take a few detours until they finally reached a splintered door that led into a lit hallway. To Ioran's relief, no more vile creatures crossed their way. Whoever had blown the place to pieces had done an admiringly thorough job.

"You hear that?"

He turned his head to look at Mhairi and found her staring at the hallway in concentration. Straining his ears, he listened as well. The crackling of the fires in their back drowned out a lot of other sounds but he was able to hear shouts.

Ioran focused on the feeling in his gut. The nausea that indicated the presence of Darkspawn was still there – had been there ever since he first felt it on the road – but it was considerably fainter than before. There were two, maybe three of the creatures in front of them. With a nod he gestured at Mhairi to stay right behind him and moved on as fast and as quietly as he could in the heavy plate armor.

His caution proved to be unnecessary, though. When they reached the next room they were just in time to see the last enemy fall victim to a fireball from the hands of a robe-clad figure. With a triumphant whoop the man shook the remaining flames from his fingertips and turned around. When he noticed the two heavily armed soldiers in the doorway he froze on the spot. His eyes drifted back and forth between Mhairi and Ioran before flickering to the corpses in his back.

"Uhm… I didn't do it?" he offered half-heartedly, backing away from them a few steps. The man's behavior made Ioran frown. He allowed himself a few moments to inspect the scenery in front of him. The room was a prison, sporting four cells on the far wall. Only one of them seemed to be used as it held a pillow and a worn blanket. In front of said cell lay the corpses of a couple of Darkspawn and – Ioran took a deep breath – two Templars.

"Didn't do what, exactly?" he inquired, the words sounding sharper than he intended to. His eyes wandered back to the mage for a more thorough assessment: blonde hair, dark eyes, no Circle robes, none-standard staff.

_Maleficar! _His mind screamed at him but he ignored the warning for the time being. The young man obviously was an apostate but that didn't mean he was a maleficar as well. The Chantry may be of that opinion but Ioran knew better. He worked with former apostates in the wardens and none of them had been blood mages. Nevertheless, he would be well advised to be careful around him. Maleficar or not, mages were dangerous in any case. Especially if this one decided they posed a threat to him.

"I… did not kill Tweedledee and Tweedledum here. Not that I am too sad about their untimely death, though," the mage joked, head cheekily tilted to one side. Ioran was not fooled for a moment by his cocksure attitude, though. The man was as nervous as a cat surrounded by mabari dogs.

"So you want to make us believe that the Darkspawn did the job for you, maleficar?"

The accusation came unexpected and was clearly meant as an insult and Ioran inwardly groaned in exasperation. If he _was _a maleficar, this was not helping. In fact, in that case Mhairi's question would be foolish and perilous.

The mage stiffened visibly and his eyes flashed in anger.

"Just because I am an apostate _doesn't_ mean I am a blood mage!" he spat, stepping forward with his hand clenched tightly around his staff. Ioran held up his hand in defense and shot Mhairi a warning look over his shoulder that distinctly warned her to utter just one more word.

"What she means is that two dead Templars and an apostate in one and the same room seem a little… too convenient. You can't blame us for being suspicious, can you?"

For a moment it looked like he wanted to object but then the man's shoulders sagged a little and he shook his red-blonde head.

"No, I guess I can't," he admitted hesitantly, averting his eyes. Ioran nodded and took a step forward with his hand still raised to indicate that he did not mean any harm.

"What's your name, mage?"

He saw the man's jaw clench and the heaving of his chest when he took a deep breath, obviously not knowing if he should answer or not.

"Anders," the quiet response finally came. He looked up again and met Ioran's steady gaze head on. "Look," he said, "I know how this seems but maybe we should discuss it later. I can help you here. It appears your main concern right now is to reclaim a fortress."

Ioran pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his broad chest. This Anders – _What kind of a name is that, anyway? – _obviously was trying for a deal.

Help them kill the Darkspawn and maybe they forget about the dead Templars. Nice try, mage.

"I admit, I could use some help. But don't think I will let you out of my sight until this… incident here is solved to my satisfaction. We _will _talk about it later."

He could see that his answer was not to the apostate's full satisfaction but he inclined his head in acceptance, anyway. They both knew he had no other choice if he wanted a chance to get out of this alive.

"Commander, may I…"

"You've already said enough, soldier," Ioran snapped back at Mhairi, reminding her of who exactly was in charge here. Her posture stiffened and she shot their new ally a distrustful look but did not dare to speak up again. It was more than obvious that she did not agree with his decision. Usually, it was not Ioran's style of leadership to shut his men up if they had something to say but Mhairi's hotheaded approach on the mage's subject could have easily turned out the other way had Anders been just a little more belligerent. He had to agree with the man. They would sort things out later and right now they needed any hand they could get.

"Are you a healer?" he asked, turning back to the mage.

"I am quite adept in the art, yes."

The answer was a relief. They were already low on potions, having stored only a minor contingent considering that this was supposed to be a quiet and peaceful trip. Who would have thought they had to encounter a full battalion of Darkspawn on their arrival?

"What about offensive spells?"

"I can provide a decent lightshow if needed and a few ice-spells could come in just as handy, I guess," Anders shrugged, brash attitude quickly gaining the upper hand again now that he knew there was no harm coming his way from the two of them; at least not for the time being.

"Let's move on then."

Ioran gestured the mage to go first. He would feel safer if he had an eye on Anders for as long as possible, not trusting the other man enough yet to turn his back on him. For all he knew his story could still be a straight out lie. A fireball to his back was not the way Ioran wanted to see his life end.

They continued on their way deeper into the belly of the Keep in silence. No sound other than the crackling of the torches on the walls was to be heard. Ioran hoped against hope it would stay that way.


	4. Meeting the Family

**Meeting the Family**

He had been on his way for less than three minutes when he heard the screams. They sounded eerie and unnatural and Arik picked up speed. As he came closer to the source, the distinct clash of metal against metal added to the ambient noise and he saw movement among a group of trees. It seemed the Commander had been right and his sister was in trouble indeed.

There was not much light but it was still enough to make out two insect-like silhouettes attacking a woman. She held herself respectably – there already were two corpses on the ground – but judging from her movements she was getting tired quickly. Arik rushed forward without thinking, knocking his shield into the face of one of the creatures as soon as he was close enough. The thing shrieked in pain and focused its attention on him instead of the woman. Arik threw another punch with the shield to force the Darkspawn further back and followed the move up with a quick blow of his one-hander before it could regain its footing.

A groan sounded to his right and Arik risked a quick glance around, just in time to see the second beast come his way. The Commander's sister was on the ground, holding her shoulder.

He turned his attention back on the first creature. His sword had left a deep gash in its front and served to slow it down. With a shout he rushed forward, dropping the shield. With both hands on the hilt, he aimed at the ugly head and split the skull with a forceful downward strike.

"Watch out!"

The warning almost came too late. Arik ducked the attack of the remaining Shriek just in time to prevent a decapitation. He felt the blade swishing over his head instead, cutting a few strands of hair in the process. From the corner of his eyes he saw that the woman was back on her feet and coming to his aid.

"Stay down!" she yelled at him and at the same moment leaped from the ground. Arik felt the air rushing from his lungs when her foot connected with his bowed back, using him as a stepping stone to hurl herself high in the air. The sickening crunch of bones met his ears when she swooped down on the beast and her dual swords made contact with its chest. A last agonizing cry filled the air and then there was silence.

He allowed himself to fall to his knees and take a few deep breaths before turning his head to where the Commander's sister sat slumped over the dead Darkspawn's body. Her breath came in short gasps and her right hand cradled her left arm against her chest. When she felt his eyes on her she looked back at him. After a moment of just watching him, she forced a weak smile.

"Thanks for the support. You saved my life," she said, sounding tired. Arik had to suppress a chuckle with her use of the exact same words her brother had said to him only a few minutes earlier. It sounded nicer coming from her, though.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "I'm Arik, by the way."

She slowly rose from the corpse beneath and made a face when her right leg almost gave out on her. He frowned at that, letting his eyes wander over her in an attempt to check for injuries which was difficult in the poor light. All Arik could see was that she favored her left leg as she limped over to where he still knelt on the ground and that she still cradled her arm.

Before he could comment on it, though, she stuck out a blood-spattered hand at him.

"Aislyn," she introduced herself.

Careful not to cause her any more pain, Arik shook the offered hand.

"I know. The Commander sent me after you. But there were supposed to be two of you."

It obviously took her a moment to process the information but then her eyes widened and her posture became stiff when the meaning of his words sunk in. Arik could tell that she had been so engrossed in the fight that she totally forgot about her companion. He remembered the first fight he had been in and that one of his comrades almost died because he had not been aware of his surroundings anymore. Blood rush seasoned warrior used to call that state. High on adrenaline, less receptive for pain, indifferent to anything but your opponent and excited by the kill; the bloodier the better.

Oh yes, Arik indeed did remember how that felt. But he also knew that coming down from that high was brutal. The moment reality hit again he had felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him. Disorientation and nausea had brought him to his knees and an all encompassing terror had taken hold of his thoughts. He had sat there on the battlefield, retching and whimpering until someone finally had mercy on him. Arik recalled a calm voice and words of comfort as he was brought to the healers to let them tend to a series of injuries he did not notice until then he had.

He forcefully shook the memory off and rose to his feet. It seemed he would have to be the comforter this time for Aislyn suddenly looked very green around the nose and lightly waved on her feet. Panic and guilt flickered in her eyes. The rush began to wear off and shock settled in instead.

"I… I don't know where she is," she admitted, her voice sounding like a frightened little girl's. Arik slung an arm around her waist and helped her to a nearby tree stump, afraid she would collapse at any moment. When he sat her down, he knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at him.

"It's alright, Aislyn, I'm sure she's okay," he calmly said with more assurance in his voice than he felt. "You stay here. I go looking for your friend. What's her name?"

Aislyn's eyes darted from his face and frantically searched the surroundings while her upper body rocked back and forth.

"Focus, soldier," he bellowed and shook her shoulders. The harsh treatment elicited a hiss of pain but it had the intended effect. Aislyn's attention snapped back to him and her back straightened visibly as she fought for control over her fear and confusion.

"What's her name, Aislyn?" Arik repeated his question and was glad when her voice sounded steadier again when she answered. "Adele. Her name's Adele."

He nodded and stood, scanning the area himself now.

"I'll try in direction of the road first but I think I won't be long, anyway. She can't be too far gone. You stay put and rest your leg."

It occurred to him, while he walked through the trees, that ordering the Commander's sibling around was rather brash considering that he was just a simple soldier with no power of command whatsoever. It made him feel uneasy and way out of line but she didn't seem to mind and as far as he was concerned it was the right thing to do. His orders were clear, weren't they? Find her. Keep her safe. In taking charge of the situation he was doing just that. Arik shook his head to get rid of the discomforting thought. There were more important things to do and if there were to be consequences to his actions, well, he would have to handle them later on, then.

Concentrating on the task at hand again, he moved on, eyes on the mud-covered ground. It was impossible to detect any kind of tracks. The fight had tore up the wet earth and dried leaves beyond recognition and the darkness did not aid him in his efforts, either. He wished he had taken his time to bring a torch along.

Somewhere to his left, he heard a branch snapping. Arik froze and strained his ears for any more sounds. For a moment, all stayed quiet and then… a moan.

"Adele?" he inquired in a half-whisper, not willing to draw too much attention if there were still Darkspawn around. The moan came again along with a rustling of leaves.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

The voice sounded pained but demanding and clearly female. He took a few more steps in direction of said voice and caught a shadow of movement in front of him.

"I'm Arik, soldier of the guard. I'm here on the Commander's order."

"Are they dead? How's my Aislyn?"

He strained his eyes and made out a slender figure perched against a tree and holding her chest. Dual blades, similar to Aislyn's, shimmered in the poor light.

"All taken care of and Aislyn is alright," he assured her, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Broken rib," Adele answered through gritted teeth. "They got me good there. Seems I'm really getting too old for this."

"Can you walk? I don't think there are more Darkspawn around but we need to stick together, regardless."

The woman huffed and stood from the ground, slowly but steadily, ignoring the helping hand Arik stretched out for her.

"I may not be able to fight anymore but the day I will not be able to carry my own weight has yet to come, young man," she informed him brusquely and with a definite air of pride, slapping at the hand that still hovered close to support her if necessary. Arik covered the laugh that bubbled up inside of him with a cough and stepped back.

"Knowing Adele, she will walk to her funeral on her own two feet," Aislyn's voice suddenly came out of the darkness and made him jump. So much for his worries of giving inept orders.

"And knowing _you_, you will still try to tell me that I am in _no condition _to do so, little one," Adele shot back. The comment could have sounded offending but Arik caught the affectionate undertone in it and instantly knew that the relationship between these two was a closer one than between servant and master.

"It's good to see you're still around, Adele," Aislyn said softly and briefly squeezed the other woman's hand. Arik felt somewhat out of place in that moment.

Adele must have noticed because she straightened a little more and gestured at the road.

"We need to get going. Is there some place safe for us to stay, young man? I'm afraid we will be of no use at the moment, as much as I hate to admit that."

Aislyn was about to protest but a look from the older woman silenced her effectively. Arik began to wonder who the servant around here was. Adele's attitude was definitely not that of a menial.

More that of a general.

"The grounds around the Vigil seem to be clear. You should be safe in one of the barracks," he said. "I will join the Commander as soon as you're taken care of. He was about to enter the Keep when I left. There may still be Darkspawn inside for all we know."

Adele nodded and nudged him in the ribs when he made no attempt to lead the way.

"Go on, soldier, we don't have all night to practice small-talk."

He suppressed the urge to salute and started walking in direction of the road instead, shaking his head in amazement. This had certainly not been what he expected when he volunteered for the service at Vigil's Keep.


	5. A Dying Man

**A Dying Man**

He felt the man's gaze in his back, almost as intense as a physical touch. It made him jumpy. As did the occasional, suspicious glances the girl shot at him over her shoulder. It felt as if he was escorted to the gallows.

Anders began to wonder if the Templars really were the worst that could happen to him. At least they just had the order to drag him back to the Tower unharmed.

Well, maybe not unharmed but alive in any case. These two soldiers were not bound to such restrictions. If they decided his story was not true, they would kill him without so much as the blink of an eye. Even the thought of another year or two in solitary confinement seemed worthwhile compared to the prospect of being executed – if falsely though – as a maleficar.

He was on borrowed time. As long as the Darkspawn threat loomed over their heads he was safe but Anders had no way of telling what would happen afterwards.

_You have to find a way to escape before they can hand down a sentence. Think!_

But thinking was not so easy with the knot of fear that lodged itself in the pit of his stomach. It was one thing to plan an escape when you knew the worst that could happen to you was to be caught. It was a different story entirely when your life was on the line.

He did not want to die. Maybe he would have thought otherwise if he had not been able to escape the Circle of Magi seven times. Sure enough, the Templars always hunted him down but the things he had seen of the world, the experiences he had made… it was enough for him to know that he wanted to live and if it was only to plan another, maybe permanent escape. There was so much Anders still wanted to do, to see, to feel.

His favorite daydream when they last had locked him away in a cell somewhere in the belly of the Tower for three hundred seventy two days had been to steal a ship and live as a pirate. Since he had first laid eyes on the ocean on one of his escapes, it had fascinated him. The wide open sea was the epitome of freedom for him.

Now he had to wonder if he would ever see it again – or the light of the next day for that matter.

Anders risked a glance back at the warrior who mediated the situation back in the prison tract. The girl had called him Commander. It seemed he was the one whose good graces he had to earn if he wanted to get out of this maker-forsaken, dull and grey fortress alive and unscathed. He was an intimidating man; tall and strongly built, with black hair and an equally black and finely trimmed beard. His eyes stood in stark contrast to his otherwise dark figure – a piercing blue that only added to his imposing appearance.

Anders was not sure what to make of him yet and that was a problem. Usually, he was a good judge of character and learned to rely on that fact a great deal. It saved him quite a few times from being caught in the past but this guy had him at a loss.

He seemed to believe him that he was no maleficar, yet he insisted on investigating the subject further. He agreed to him aiding them with the Darkspawn, yet did not allow him to do at least one step unguarded.

The girl's attitude was much easier to read, as unpleasant as it might be. Not only did she believe he was maleficarum, she was convinced of it and the hate that radiated off of her was almost palpable. Anders could deal with that. It was a classic amongst people. For someone like her, being an apostate equaled to being a blood mage and therefore a maleficar; case closed.

The Commander's thoughts on the topic were not as obvious. He seemed to have a healthy respect for mages but he was in no way afraid or even hostile. Anders had tried several times to read his expression when the man pondered what to do with him but came up with a blank.

"Commander!"

His thoughts were harshly interrupted by the girl's shout. She broke into a run before he even had time to find out what caused the outburst. Only when she kneeled down beside a limp figure on the floor Anders became aware of the wounded man. With a silent curse, he rushed to her side, healer senses kicking in.

As his hands ran over the soldier's body, he immediately felt the darkness that coursed through the poor fellow's veins. He had felt it before in other unfortunate souls. It gave him the creeps every time and every time the inevitable outcome was either death or becoming a ghoul. This man also received a mortal wound in the gut. Blood spurted out like a fountain even as the girl pressed her hands on the injury in a frantic attempt to stop the flow. He was beyond healing.

"Roland," the girl gently addressed the man. "What happened to you?"

"It's the taint," Anders replied before Roland could. The girl shot him a hateful glance, then turned back to the soldier.

"He's right, Mhairi," Roland coughed. Agonized shivers shook his whole body and his eyes were glazed over with pain and blood loss. "They… were upon us before we had the chance to react, without… a second's warning."

Anders retreated from the battered form on the ground but the girl – Mhairi as he now knew her name was – grasped his hand in a painful hold and forced him back down.

"Help him!" she ordered harshly, tears shimmering in her wide eyes. "If you really are a healer you will help him!"

A gauntleted hand came to rest on Mhairi's shoulder and her piercing gaze turned from him to the Commander. For the first time, Anders saw a flicker of emotion on the man's face: compassion as well as resignation. The Commander knew that Roland was as good as dead and that there was no sense in wasting mana on a pointless healing attempt.

"Let it go, Mhairi. There is nothing Anders can do for your friend. You know the taint is deadly."

For a long moment, Mhairi just sat there, tears running down grime-stained cheeks. Anders felt sorry for her despite her dislike of his person. Losing a friend was never easy.

When she finally looked back up at her superior, she had regained her composure and nodded her consent. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and knelt down by the soldier's side as well.

"You… you're the… new Commander, aren't you?"

Roland's speech already became slurred, his eyes more unfocused by the second. Anders let some rejuvenating energy flow into the battered body, along with a minor sedating spell. He might not be able to safe the man but he could at least buy them a few more minutes to get some answers and make things a little less painful. Roland took a deep, relieved breath and gave Anders a grateful smile.

The Commander obviously noticed the silent exchange because he cast Anders a thoughtful look but other than that, he did not care to comment his actions. He probably knew what Anders was trying to do and appreciated the deed.

"Yes, I am. My name is Ioran. Can you tell us anything that might help us?"

"We never encountered Darkspawn like these before," Roland said, voice more even now. "The seneschal ordered a counter-attack but they came out of nowhere. There's one with them… a Darkspawn that _talks_."

A shiver ran down Anders' spine with that particular revelation. He did not have that much experience with Darkspawn but even he knew that they were not supposed to do that. They were mindless creatures, dumb as a bucket of dirt. The concept of speech should be something exceeding their intelligence. A talking Darkspawn seemed an idea far too fantastic to be true.

"Do you know where I can find that talking Darkspawn?" the Commander inquired. It was not possible to tell if he was surprised by the news or even believed that is was the truth and not just the mad ramblings of a dying man.

"All I can tell you is that… it went after the seneschal last I've… seen it. They went… for the roof."

The effects of his spells started to wear off. It would not be long now until it was over. Anders saw Mhairi slipping her hand into Roland's; a last compassionate act to make him feel that he was not alone in his last moments.

"Thank you, Roland," Ioran quietly said and padded the man's shoulder. The expression in his eyes was sad. When they rose to their feet, Roland's voice held them back.

"Commander… I don't want… to go like this. Please…"

The tall man hesitated for a second and questioningly looked at Anders who steeled himself for the answer he was going to give. It seemed cruel but it still was the only merciful thing they could do.

"He's dying anyway. Better to end it quickly."

Ioran straightened his back and nodded curtly, kneeling back down. Anders turned away from the scene then. He just wished he could turn his back on the sounds as well. The cracking of bone when the man's neck snapped was sickening and Mhairi's sobs in the silence afterwards were hard to bear. Anders knew this decision would haunt him for quite a while.

"We're done here. Let's go."

The Commander's voice was hoarse but determined. Anders avoided looking at the corpse to his feet when they started to move again. As cold and callused as the words might have sounded, he knew Ioran was right. They were done here.


	6. Good Advices

**Good Advices**

The barracks were cold and only dimly lit but at least it was clean in there and dry. The row of rickety cots down the left wall was the most welcome sight Aislyn laid eyes on since West Hill. With an exhausted sigh she flopped down on the nearest bunk and hissed in pain when her shoulder and leg protested against the careless movement. It caused Arik, who escorted Adele to one of the other cots, to shoot her a worried glance. As soon as he made sure the older woman rested comfortably he was by her side. He just needed one look at her shoulder to know what she suspected all along. The joint was dislocated.

"We need to reduce that," he said, compassion lacing his voice. Aislyn nodded.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"It will hurt."

"I was even more afraid you'd say _that._"

Arik chuckled. It was a nice sound and made her smile despite the pain. He retrieved a chair from somewhere in a corner and motioned her to sit on it while he removed his gauntlets. Aislyn reluctantly obeyed. She was afraid of what was to happen next. Her new companion knelt down by her side and sought her gaze.

"Try to relax, okay? On three – one…"

She took a deep breath and slowly released it again, trying to heed his advice.

"Two…"

A sharp, sizzling pain made her cry out in agony when Arik pulled at the injured limb with brutal force. It ran up her arm, exploded in her shoulder, spread out into her head and chest and made her collapse against the man's armored chest.

"And three," he breathed as he slung an arm around her middle to steady her. Bright spots danced behind her closed eyes and Aislyn gasped for air to prevent herself from fainting – or retching.

"Cheater," she forced out in between rapid breaths. The accusation made him snicker again.

"Sorry. It's easier when you have no chance to tense up. Doesn't hurt so badly."

The statement elicited a sarcastic giggle from her.

"You don't say. Seems I can count myself lucky then, huh?"

Arik helped her to sit up again after a few more seconds and led her back to the cot. He rummaged around in his pack then, getting out a couple of bandages and a small vial. The vial was pressed into Adele's hand with the explanation that it helped with the pain before he returned to her with a few of the bandages.

"I have to straighten it out until we can get you a healer. Don't worry, I'll be careful. The worst is already over," he assured her when he noticed that she was eying him suspiciously. The most of the pain fortunately was already gone. What was left was a pounding, numb ache and subtle soreness and after the blinding agony she barely felt it. The prospect of Arik bandaging her shoulder was not very welcome even with the assurance that it won't be too bad.

"You don't want the joint to pop out again, do you?"

Aislyn bit her lip and shook her head. No, that was certainly the last thing she needed. The experience was still too fresh in her pain memory.

"Then I suggest we get rid of your clothes so that I can reach the shoulder."

At that, her head shot up and her eyes widened in disbelief. They were in the middle of an attack, she did not even know him and he expected her to _undress?_

Her expression must be very comical for Arik laughed out loud and shook his head in wry amusement. Not seeing what was so funny, Aislyn set her jaw and cast him an angry glare. She would have crossed her arms for emphasis had she been able to do so.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, still laughing. "I couldn't resist. The leathers will do, of course. Not that I never saw a woman in her smallclothes, though."

Aislyn heard Adele snorting a suppressed laugh of her own and felt a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. It had been a rude joke, alright, but a good one and, if she had to be honest, it served to distract her from the painful experience she just had to make.

With a relenting sigh she allowed Arik to loosen up the buckles of her armor. He was quick but careful in doing so and her shoulder barely complained. Aislyn allowed herself to study him while he was busy getting rid of the leather pieces strapped to her upper body. Until now, she neither had the chance nor did she care to do so. He was of about the same height and built as Ioran with tanned skin, green eyes and blonde hair. Right now, his brow was furrowed in concentration over his task. He had large hands but they were surprisingly fast and careful. It seemed he had quite some experience both on the battlefield and in an infirmary.

She thought of the way he had treated her after the fight when her bottled up emotions threatened of overwhelm her. It was still embarrassing to think about it but Arik had acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He took charge of the situation immediately, obviously knowing exactly what to do. She should have known it as well. It was she who had been responsible for Adele and everything else but instead of keeping a level head she had succumbed to panic.

"Thank you," Aislyn said, suddenly feeling the urge to show him her gratitude. She kept her voice low, though, so that only Arik could hear. "For… you know… saving my honor down there and all that. I behaved like a coward."

His eyes briefly darted to her face and she caught sight of a sympathetic smile before he lowered his head again and started applying the first bandage.

"I take it this has been your first real fight?"

"If you don't count bar fights and the occasional quarrel with bandits on the road then yes, I guess you could say that," she admitted and felt even more like a fool.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. Fighting, especially fighting Darkspawn, is nothing like what people make of it in books and legends. It's not honorable and heroic but gruelling and bloody and nothing an unexpected fighter can stomach easily. If you'd reacted any other way you would be no better than the Darkspawn. A warrior who is not affected by fear or death has no soul."

Arik's hands had stopped in mid-air while he spoke and there was a faraway look in his eyes. Aislyn wondered what he was seeing. He suddenly seemed much older than his years.

"Aren't you a little young for such wise talk?"

He laughed humorlessly.

"I've been at Ostagar when the Darkspawn overran our army and King Cailan got killed. I wouldn't call me wise but an experience like that tends to sober you somewhat. Trust me, Aislyn; there is nothing you need to be ashamed of."

Aislyn bit her lips, regretting that she had asked. She occasionally had heard stories about Ostagar from a veteran at a pub in Jader. He had been one of the few who had survived the massacre and the event left him utterly broken. After a few tankards of ale he tended to rant about the loss of the army and teyrn Loghain's betrayal until the bartender would have enough and throw him out. Aislyn remembered that she had been fascinated and disgusted at the same time when she listened to the soldier's very graphic narrations.

Sometimes she thought the man's memories of that day made him depict things more appalling than they had really been but now that she saw Arik's reaction, she began to doubt it. The Blight had been a horrible time for the people in Ferelden and Aislyn had not been around to dare and judge anything that had happened in that time. She should be careful to remember that in the future.

"Alright, all done," Arik's voice cut into her thoughts again and she looked down on herself to find her chest and shoulder neatly bandaged. The wraps sat tight and limited her mobility but the pain was almost completely gone now and that was a relief; so much so that she had almost cried out when Arik started cleaning the cut at her calf. Compared to the time he had needed to tend to her shoulder, the injury was taken care of relatively quickly, though, and he moved on to Adele as soon as he had applied a bandage to it as well.

Aislyn leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to relax. Trying not to think of Ioran and the dangers he might still face inside of the Keep. Worry for her brother had been lingering on the edge of her mind since he left her but she did not have the time to allow it to surface.

_He's good. He'll make it out alright. They did not appoint him Warden Commander for his knitting skills. _

The thought made her smile.

"I don't need your help! Just leave the bandages and then be gone! Didn't Ioran tell you to report back as soon as we're settled?"

Aislyn lazily opened one eye again when Adele's bristling protest reached her ears. The smile already on her lips widened when she watched her former teacher trying to keep Arik from undoing her armor in much the same fashion he helped Aislyn with hers.

"He told me to report back as soon as you are _taken care of_ and you are only delaying my departure by resisting a proper treatment."

"Listen to him, Adele. He's quite adept; more so than you are at the moment. Or are you just shy of letting him see you in your smallclothes?"

Aislyn couldn't resist that little tease, still remembering Adele's laugh when Arik had put her on earlier. It earned her a dour look and a rude gesture behind Arik's back that gave her a hard time not to burst with laughter.

"You should have bandaged that potty mouth of hers as well," Adele grumbled. "No respect for her elders."

Arik did not care to comment on that and only looked pointedly at the woman and than at the bandages on the cot. Aislyn was amused to see that he had already learned that trying to argue with Adele was kind of futile. Silence most of the time was a way more effective weapon. It certainly hit home now.

"Oh Andraste's flaming sword! Alright, fine, ser knight in shining armor, knock yourself out and then, for the Maker's sake and my own, be gone already!"

Aislyn bit her hand in a desperate try to contain her amusement. It seemed she had finally found someone who was not as easily intimidated by Adele's antics as many. She would keep that fact in mind for future situations that might require persuasiveness.

When she was convinced that no further protest was to be expected, she closed her eyes again. Against her better judgment, things suddenly did not feel so dire anymore.


	7. On the Rooftop

**On the Rooftop**

Their steps echoing off the stone floor of the hallway and Mhairi's quiet sobs were the only sounds on their way to the rooftop. It grated on Ioran's nerves. He felt dirty and that had nothing to do with the Darkspawn gore and blood on him.

To end Roland's life had been an act of mercy. He knew that. Yet it did nothing to keep him from feeling guilty for a good man's death. It felt like murder. The last time he had to show that particular mercy to a comrade, Ioran swore to himself he'd never do it again. He had had nightmares about it for weeks on end. It did not feel right then and it did not feel any better now.

Despite him knowing there was no other way, Ioran had turned to the mage for confirmation. Anders had looked as sick and torn as he felt when he had confirmed his opinion. His reaction had convinced him a little more that the apostate was no maleficar. The maleficar he had encountered in the past rarely showed so much compassion and understanding for the ailments of others.

Ioran forced himself to follow that line of thinking to get rid of the pictures of Roland's dead body in his head. He still had to make a decision what was to happen to the healer should he survive their fight against the Darkspawn.

The easiest would be to lock him up again until the Tower sent another group of Templars to retrieve him but Ioran felt uncomfortable doing that. The one time he had ever been in a Circle Tower had left a lasting impression.

The atmosphere there was dull and dark, the silence almost palpable. The mages were neither allowed personal possessions nor too close friendships. They were watched and strictly controlled at all times. Their lives seemed to consist of nothing more than studies and training. If it had not been for the imprinted suns on their foreheads, Ioran would have had a hard time telling the Tranquil apart from most of the mages. The place had terrified him. It was no wonder that the braver ones among the mages tried to escape the iron grasp of the Tower one way or another.

Another possibility would be to look the other way and simply let Anders go. It was probably the decision that would suit the mage most but Ioran was not too happy with this alternative, either. There was another thought nagging at him.

_We are short of wardens. Especially mage wardens. You could ask him to join us._

The idea had its appeal. The man seemed capable enough from what he had seen back down in the prison and he was a healer. No matter if he was guilty of killing the Templars or not, Anders would be a valuable addition to his admittedly very short list of suitable recruits. Ioran would not even have to justify his decision. The wardens did answer to no one and they were known to welcome anyone into their ranks – even criminals – if they were just useful enough. He liked this possibility the most.

Of course there would be problems such as the prejudices most people had against mages in general and apostates in particular. Mhairi's reaction to Anders was a telling example for the opinion predominant in large parts of Thedas that apostates had to be maleficar. If he conscripted Anders into the wardens, the man would see himself confronted with a lot of suspicion and fear. Ioran was not quite sure if he could afford that kind of trouble. In the larger and far more accepted compounds, he would have time to settle and establish a certain level of trust before he was expected to join a mission. They did not have that luxury in Ferelden. Every warden was needed and if things did not work in Ioran's favor, the mage could turn out to be a danger more than a benefit.

A sound in the back shook Ioran out of his contemplations. It was not very loud but it was the unmistakable clank of metal connecting with stone and it came closer. With a frown, he drew his sword and turned around. Alarmed by his actions, Mhairi and Anders followed his example and readied themselves as well.

"Someone's coming," he said when he caught Mhairi's questioning gaze. "Be on your guard."

The clanking became louder. Ioran recognized it as the steps of armored feet now; armored feet that tried to be quiet. He motioned for his companions to stay where they were while he moved closer to the last junction they had passed. His pulse was quickening with the expectation of more enemies coming their way. He thought they had cleared this section of the fortress for good but now he was not so sure anymore. What if they missed a pack? What if they ran right into another ambush?

The steps stopped just behind the corner and Ioran grasped the hilt of his sword harder. Determination took the place of doubt. Even if he was right and this was an ambush, they could deal with it. They did not come this far just to be killed now because of his heedlessness.

Taking a deep breath, Ioran prepared himself to attack… when a half-whisper from the other side made him freeze in mid-step.

"Commander?"

The voice sounded hesitant but familiar. He remembered he heard it sometime during the night even though he could not quite place it. Frowning, he lowered his weapon a few inches.

"Who's there?"

"Arik, ser," the unmistakably relieved answer came from the other side and a familiar figure stepped into view.

"Arik! Maker's breath, but I almost mistook you for an enemy!" Ioran exclaimed and clapped the man on the shoulder in equal relief. He almost forgot that he ordered the guard to return.

"I'm glad you didn't," Arik said. His gaze flickered over to Mhairi and then on to Anders where it lingered for a moment. He shook his head in disbelief and smiled at the mage.

"You really _are _an expert escapee, huh? Good to see you, sparkle-fingers."

Anders returned the smile wholeheartedly and winked at Arik.

"What can I say? I'm just brilliant."

"How's my sister? " Ioran interrupted the happy reunion. He was impatient to hear the soldier's report. They could still get reacquainted later, preferably when the fortress was back in their hands.

"Aislyn and Adele are both safe. They have some injuries, though. Nothing life-threatening but I suggest Anders should have a look at them as soon as possible. I left them at the barracks for now."

Ioran felt another wave of relief sweep through him with that information. It was disturbing that they got hurt but Arik said it was nothing too serious. He had to live with that for now. The most important thing was that they were safe and alive. It lifted a great stone off his chest.

"Have you encountered any more Darkspawn on the way?"

Arik shook his head.

"No, but I met Lieutenant Garavel briefly. He wanted me to tell you that our men are patrolling the estate to keep more enemies from intruding. Most of us are injured and Captain Haynes did not make it but the casualties seem to be tolerable, anyway. The Orlesian wardens took most of the brunt. We do not know what has become of them, though."

Ioran heaved a sigh. He feared he knew what had become of them. On their way, he had seen at least five corpses that bore the griffon crest of the Grey. There was still hope that no more of his brothers fell victim to the ambush but a feeling in his gut told him that these five were not the only ones. For a moment, he had pondered to go over and identify the men but he couldn't bring himself to do so. His apprehension to see a familiar face held him back. From the twenty wardens that came down from Orlais, Ioran knew at least ten. To see one of them dead to his feet would only evoke grief and he couldn't afford that; not yet, anyway. There would be time to count the losses but it was not now. He needed a clear head to see this through.

Ioran thanked Arik for the report and gave him a short briefing of what they expected to find on the roof. He made sure to keep his tone neutral when the subject of the talking Darkspawn came up since he did not know what to make of it yet.

The thought that one of those creatures had developed the ability of speech was disturbing and terrifying. He would have liked nothing better than to dismiss it as hallucinations, caused by the pain and blood loss of a goner but something in Roland's eyes had been too clear, too sure for that to be true. It also fit too frighteningly well with the Darkspawn's new and advanced offensive strategies. Not only did they attack out of hiding, their assaults also followed a more coordinated pattern than usual. Ioran and Mhairi noticed that, when they fought their way through the beasts' ranks in the courtyard, the Darkspawn didn't just blindly hack and slash at their targets but aimed for weaknesses in their defenses and armors. It was a behavior Ioran only witnessed about Alphas and Emissaries before but not about the common creatures like Hurlocks and Genlocks. Even if the information about a talking Darkspawn turned out to be false, there was no doubt that something was terribly wrong here.

Arik took the news rather calm and collected. Like Ioran, he seemed to be of the opinion that they should not take anything for granted and be prepared for everything as unlikely as it may be.

The next door they opened led them out onto the battlements. The rain became stronger again and it was even colder up here than in the courtyard. An icy wind blew mercilessly into their faces and made them feel every raindrop as sharp as a shard of glass. Anders was suffering most from the onslaught of the elements. His robes provided little protection and within a minute he was shivering violently in the cold.

"You should have put on a coat," Arik said with a sideways glance at the mage. A sarcastic grin lit up Anders' face.

"Well, I certainly would have done so if the Templars remembered to let me pack my things before they dragged me along. They are forgetful like that, you know? Must be part of the job description."

Mhairi snorted snidely at that but did not say anything. Ioran's earlier rebuke still seemed to be on her mind. She did not utter a single word since they left Roland's corpse. He pitied her a little. Especially since she had not taken her friend's loss too well but for the moment he was glad that she had not yet broken her silence. Another argument between her and Anders was a complication he did not need in the least.

"What about a heat-spell or something like that? Don't you people learn such things in the Circle?" he heard Arik ask beside him.

The mage's grin turned outright sardonic and he carelessly shrugged his shoulders.

"I've not been around for classes very often. Most of the time, I was busy planning my next escape or hiding in closets with some nice company. The robes are quite practical for _that_, by the way."

Anders wriggled his eyebrows and even Ioran couldn't hide a small smirk but it did not last for long. He motioned for his companions to be quiet. The short banter may have lightened the mood but it also could have alerted the enemy. The pull behind his navel became stronger when they stepped out into the open. They had to be close to their destination now. He just hoped they arrived in time for the seneschal to be still alive. There had been enough deaths already.

Carefully they moved on. It felt like an eternity but Ioran knew only a few minutes could have passed when they heard a terrified scream that died away again quickly. He did not want to think about what that meant but unfortunately, he was left no choice.

When he spied a figure close to the edge of the battlements looking down, his stomach clenched into a tight knot of horror for a moment before white-hot rage filled his senses and blurred his vision. Ioran deliberately took a few deep, calming breathes to stop himself from doing something very stupid. He could not even see the figure properly in the darkness. The only thing he could tell for sure was that what pushed the unfortunate soldier over the edge was a Darkspawn. He had no clue of how well armed it was or if it had any magical abilities at its disposal. Attacking blindly and driven by hate would only result in him ending up with his head to his feet or a sword through his middle.

_Keep your cool, you idiot! These people depend on you! You're their commander, not a common soldier anymore, so by Andraste's tits behave the fucking part!_

Slowly, painfully slowly, the red mist clouding his mind retreated. Ioran forced himself to concentrate on his surroundings again and scanned the area. There was another creature near the first, holding a jagged knife to the throat of a grey-haired man on his knees. From the crest that decorated the front of the elder man's armor, he assumed this had to be the seneschal. Ioran did not see any other enemies but he knew there had to be more somewhere, lurking in the shadows. There might be a lot of behavior patterns that changed about the creatures but they still attacked and traveled in packs and the pull of the taint in his guts was too strong to come from just these two.

He looked at his companions to gauge their reaction and was glad to see that all of them wore an expression of determination rather than fear. He drew his sword again and like one being, his group responded, readying their own weapons of choice.

Their actions went not unnoticed. The Darkspawn turned its head at them but made no move to attack. Instead it laughed and it sounded so _amused _that it sent a chill down Ioran's spine.

"Ah! It seems you have been right, human. You're friends have come," the Darkspawn by the edge suddenly said, addressing the man in their hold. Its voice was deep and rich, the words strangely accentuated as if it was not used to the sound of them. Another chill coursed through him. Roland said it was talking but still, the truth of it took him by surprise. His mind simply denied the possibility of a talking Darkspawn. It was abhorrent to nature and it refuted everything he had been taught about these creatures.

The Darkspawn slowly made a few steps in their direction and as if that had been a signal, four of its brethren came into sight from behind a corner, spreading out in a half-circle. For a long moment, the splashing of raindrops on stone was the only thing to be heard as both parties watched each other furtively.

Ioran especially had his eye on the one that had been talking. It clearly was the leader but it looked different from any Darkspawn he had ever seen. The build resembled that of a Hurlock but it was bulkier and a few inches taller. Its face looked pale and leathery but at the same time strangely human; an impression that was amplified by too intelligent eyes that were colored up to the forehead with some kind of war paint – or blood. It was an intimidating sight. He briefly wondered if more of these new creatures existed or if this one was an exception when the Darkspawn sneered at them and pointed a massive hand at Ioran.

"Capture the Grey Warden. These others, they may be killed."

The whole battlement seemed to spring into a blur of motion in an instant. Arik and Mhairi stormed forth to meet the four attacking minions while Anders in his back let lose a wave of ice and snow that froze two of the creatures in place. They were immediately dispatched by the two warriors in the front line. Ioran went for the talking Darkspawn instead. The monster did not join the fray. It lingered at the edge of it, waiting and watching.

When the first of its acolytes fell victim to Ioran's companions in a matter of seconds, the leader motioned for the remaining Darkspawn that guarded the captive to come to its brothers' aid but still, it did nothing itself to help its followers. Instead, it retreated. Not willing to let that happen, Ioran sped up his pace and lunged at the beast with a primal scream. Since it did not even have a weapon drawn, he expected the attack to hit home but the creature was faster than he thought. The impact when his blade met the solid metal of a shield instead of soft flesh painfully reverberated through his arm and shoulder and almost made him lose the weapon. He gritted his teeth against the pain and brought his own shield up to block the counter-attack that followed. Despite its size, the Darkspawn was fast and Ioran found himself on the defensive immediately as blow after blow came down on him in rapid succession and with brutal force. He had no chance but to retreat if he did not want to be crushed by the massive strikes. Feverishly, Ioran tried to find a gap in his opponent's defense he could use to break the onslaught. His shield already sported an impressive collection of buckles and dents and it was only a matter of time until the material would give way. Knowing there was not even the smallest breach, the creature flashed yellow, razor-sharp teeth at him in what he assumed was a grin.

A bright bolt of light shot past Ioran's ear so close he felt the heat and heard the crackling of energy. Electricity made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his skin prickle. He cursed under his breath, casting a quick glance at Anders but the mage seemed unaffected by the near miss. Little snowflakes started to dance around his hands as he readied an ice-spell.

Ioran's eyes shot back to the Darkspawn. The blue and white flickers of the lightning-spell ran over its armor and where they touched skin, faint traces of smoke rose from the creature and singed the air with the smell of burnt flesh but it did in no way slow it down. Its attacks still came with the same speed and precision they did before. They even seemed more brutal as if the spell fueled the Darkspawn's strength.

At that point, Ioran felt the temperature around him drop rapidly and he knew Anders was about to release his ice magic upon his opponent. Raising his shield over his head, he ducked just in time to prevent being caught by the brunt of it as well. The sudden cooling of the air made the stone beneath their feet slippery as the rain began to freeze over and he almost lost his footing. Another curse fled him.

_Who in the Maker's name is that mage trying to kill here exactly? _

While he tried to find his balance again, a shadow passed him by and he heard a fierce battle cry when Mhairi crashed into the Darkspawn. Even though she was a petite thing, the additional weight of her armor and the speed with which she stormed forward caused their enemy to stumble back. It was not enough to bring it down but combined with Anders' spell it stopped the merciless onslaught and bought Ioran a few precious seconds to catch his breath. He risked another look back to see how the mage and Arik were holding up. The guardsman was bleeding from a gash on his forehead and was breathing heavily but his attacks were still powerful. He had just run his one-hander through the middle of one of the beasts, causing its entrails to spill all over the place. There was only one more minion left and Arik immediately switched his attention to the remaining foe.

Meanwhile, Ioran felt the bolstering effects of a rejuvenation-spell coursing through his system while another ice-spell flew past him. He did not have time to be surprised by the mage's ability to handle two spells at once, though, for a painful cry cut through the general clamor of battle, followed by a scraping of metal against stone.

Ioran's head flew back around to where Mhairi and the leader had been fighting. He found the girl lying on the ground, motionless, her breastplate sporting an ugly dent. The Darkspawn stood over her, sword grasped with both hands, blade facing downward for the killing blow.

"Anders!" he shouted at the mage while at the same moment drawing a dagger from its sheath in his boot. He was too far away to reach the creature in time to prevent the strike. In desperate haste and with all force he could muster he flung the knife at the enemy instead, not caring where it might hit as long as it saved Mhairi from the inevitable. Despite his lousy aim, the small blade did not miss its target and bit into the Darkspawn's shoulder where it got stuck. Ioran heard the creature grunt – the first sound from it altogether since the fight started – and saw it turn its head, away from the girl. The short delay was enough for him to reach the two figures and land a hard blow with his shield into the creature's side. Since it had discarded its own shield in favor for a double-handed strike, the brunt hit it full force and this time, it did go down.

Unfortunately, that did not mean that it was defenseless. A spiked boot shot up and caught Ioran in the middle when he raised his sword over his head for a downward cut. It took his breath away long enough for the Darkspawn to get back up on one knee and swing its weapon at his legs in a wide arc. Ioran knew it was pure luck that the blade only scratched the surface of his bracers. He was not fast enough to avoid the blow and only the knife in its shoulder that restricted the monster's mobility saved him from losing a leg. Angry about his fault, Ioran doubled his efforts to bring the creature down for good. It was at a disadvantage in its kneeling position and he mercilessly drove his sword down time and again. He barely noticed Arik suddenly appearing by his side. The soldier had dispatched the last of the Darkspawn group and now came to his aid.

Seeing that it was outnumbered, the Darkspawn growled, baring its teeth. Its now empty shield hand shot forth and the two men were hurled back by a massive shockwave. The abrupt change in air pressure again left Ioran breathless and made his eardrums hurt. His sight went blurry and his hearing was muted. He shook his head violently to get rid of the dizziness. Shock and surprise made his heart race in his chest.

_That damn bastard's an emissary!_

He was given no time to digest that new unexpected development for a sharp pain flashed through his shoulder like liquid fire and made him gasp. The Darkspawn was back on his feet and when Ioran looked down, he found its blackened sword embedded in his flesh. The pain was excruciating but somehow he succeeded in grabbing the blade and pushing himself off of the tip. He felt the metal grind against bone and heard the sickening wet noise when the weapon came free. His stomach lurched and an overwhelming feeling of vertigo almost brought him to his knees.

Beside him, Arik still fought to get back to his feet. The impact of the shockwave had slammed him into the solid wall in his back and made his head connect with the stone hard enough to knock him out for a few seconds.

Ioran felt desperation rising in his heart. This new enemy was a lot stronger than they thought and it incapacitated almost every one of them in a frighteningly short time. His eyes flickered from Arik to Mhairi and then to Anders. The apostate was the only one still relatively unscathed but he, too, looked tired from the constant use of his magic. He still knelt beside the recruit, hands glowing in an eerily blue-white light as he sent out wave after wave of healing magic. His attacks long since stopped with the increasingly demanding task of keeping them alive. Ioran appreciated the mages effort but he couldn't help but think that maybe it was not enough. Nothing seemed to affect the Darkspawn strong enough for them to land a fatal blow. The harder they pressed on, the stronger the monster seemed to get. For the first time that night, Ioran was scared.

Slowly, he lifted his shield while he, unwittingly, took a step back. His arm screamed in protest with every move and despite the rejuvenating energy Anders constantly sent their way, his legs felt like someone had strapped lead weights on his ankles; an effect he attributed to the heavily bleeding hole in his shoulder.

The Darkspawn just stood there in front of him without moving a muscle, an impressive demonstration of dominance. Its bleary, lidless eyes held Ioran's gaze with an intensity that made him shudder. And then it spoke.

"Surrender. I do not wish to harm you further, warden. I was sent to negotiate."

A hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up inside of him. Since when did Darkspawn negotiate? What was there to negotiate in the first place? The thought alone was ridiculous.

"Somehow that is hard to believe considering that you and your minions ambushed my men. There is nothing I could possibly want from you," Ioran spat.

The creature's head slightly tilted to one side and it made a sound that could pass as a regretful sigh. To hear something like that from a Darkspawn was disturbing; even more so than the fact that it was talking.

"Unfortunate. But it was to be expected. Our hope was that you would cooperate but it does not matter. We will find another one."

Its knuckles cracked when the Darkspawn's fingers tightened harder around the hilt of its one-hander, readying it for a new attack and Ioran shifted into a steadier stance. His injured arm was almost useless but he would be damned if he gave in to that monster without fighting to the last.

"You will find nothing here but death, freak!"

The answer was a menacing growl and the creature stepped forth, thus ending their short truce. Before it had reached him, however, it stopped dead in its tracks again. The expression on its too human face could only be described as utter surprise. Ioran frowned as he followed the Darkspawn's gaze that slowly drifted down to its chest.

The bloodied tip of a sword glistened in the dim light. He heard a low grunt as whoever held the weapon thrust it further through the creature's body. It sank to its knees, eyes clouding over, astonishment etched into the dying features.

Ioran could just stand and stare, as did his companions. There was complete silence for a long, unbelieving moment before he lifted his eyes to the man who stood over the enemy's prone form. He recognized the crest on his breastplate before he saw the face. It was the Darkspawn's prisoner; the one he assumed was seneschal Varel.

"I'm sorry, Commander," the man said then. "I would have joined the fight earlier but I'm afraid my hands were tied. Literally."

To prove his point, he lifted his hands up. There were still parts of a rough rope dangling from his wrists. Ioran just looked on. He was dumbfounded and unable to process yet what had just happened. Relief battled inside of him with the ridiculous urge to yell at the man who just saved all their lives for taking such a risk and the desperate wish to collapse right on the spot and pass out. Instead he limped to a nearby crate and ungracefully slumped down on it. He allowed himself a few seconds to set his thoughts straight, then looked at their savior again.

"You were there when it mattered. That's all I need to know. You're the seneschal?"

The man nodded and slightly bowed to him. Ioran almost laughed at that display of etiquette. It appeared strangely odd amidst all the blood and the Darkspawn corpses.

"Indeed. I'm Varel. I have to thank you, Commander, I owe you my life."

Ioran waved a dismissive hand at the seneschal. His thanks somehow seemed inappropriate considering that he already paid the alleged debt in full only seconds ago. He did not want the man's gratitude; he was just glad it was over.

"No need for that, seneschal. You should tell me instead what in the Maker's name happened here."

Varel looked at a loss there. Ioran had hoped to get some kind of explanation from him but as it was, he seemed to know as little as the rest of them.

"All I can tell you is that they came out of nowhere, ser. We were totally unprepared for the attack. There are always Darkspawn in Amaranthine for the Deep Roads run close to the surface here but never that many and never that coordinated. By the time we became aware it was an ambush it had already been too late. As for their purpose… well, I honestly don't know what made them crawling out of their holes again."

Ioran nodded. He had already suspected as much. It was all too obvious from what he had seen in the courtyard and on their way up to the roof that the soldiers at the Keep had been utterly defenseless against the seemingly unfounded attack. It did have a purpose, though. They might not know it yet but the Darkspawn had stated that they were trying to find something or, more precisely, _someone_.

With a sigh, he pushed the thought back for the time being. They needed to tend to their wounded and dead before they would be able to discuss the matter further. Rising from the crate, Ioran looked at Anders.

"How's Mhairi?"

"She's alright," was the answer. "Still unconscious but I don't think there will be permanent damage of any sort. I'll check on her later, though, just to be sure. For now I've done all I can."

"Will you be able to tend to the other wounded? You look tired."

A grin lit Anders' features and Ioran wondered if there was anything that was able to disturb the mage's optimism.

"Hey, what use would I be if my only exceptional talent was for dramatic escapes? Don't worry, good ser, I'm as fit as a fiddle."

It was an exaggeration, he was sure of that but as long as Anders was still up for jokes Ioran trusted him to be able to do his job. As if to prove his point, the apostate's hands once again flared with that eerie blue-white light and the pain in his shoulder abated to a bearable level. He felt the blood flow subsiding and the flesh coalescing and heaved a relieved sigh. Arik beside him gave a similar sound and Ioran turned his head to check on the soldier. He looked horrible in his dented and blood-spattered armor and with the slowly healing cut on his forehead but Ioran was sure he did not look a tad bit better. He was still standing, though, and the rest was nothing that could not be fixed by a hot bath and a good night's sleep.

"We should get your companion somewhere more comfortable, Commander," the seneschal said, nodding at Mhairi. "And we need to see who else might need our help."

Ioran suppressed the sharp answer that lay on his tongue with the comment. As thankful as he was that Varel had taken care of the Darkspawn leader as much he now disliked the undertone in the man's voice. It sounded as if he did not trust the new Commander to know where the priorities needed to be set and that was a disturbing thought. He decided to let it go, though, for the night had been straining for all of them and maybe he read something into the seneschal's tone of voice that was not even there. He would have an eye on him, regardless. If they were to work together there could be no doubt of who was in charge in this arrangement.

To their credit, both Arik and Anders looked at him for confirmation and Ioran was glad that at least with them there did not seem to be any doubt at all. He nodded his consent and gestured at Arik to help him carry Mhairi's limp body inside. Even though the imminent danger had been fended off, there was still a lot to do before they could get that hot bath and well deserved sleep. The night was long from over.


	8. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

It had not been long after Arik left that another soldier found Aislyn and Adele in the barracks and asked them to come to the great hall with him. They were gathering everyone who had survived the attack, he said and that an ambulance had been set up there. Their injuries could be treated if necessary and if they were up to the task, help with the wounded would be appreciated. She felt a little guilty for leaving because they had promised Arik to stay where they were but she also felt compelled to help those who had not been as fortunate as she and Adele and a look at the other woman had told her that she thought the same.

When they arrived, Aislyn had been shaken by the severity of some of the injuries. She did not know the attack had been that devastating. There were soldiers with missing limbs, others with severely burnt arms or faces and still others whose skin was pale and streaked with bulging blue veins. And there were _so many._

Adele beside her had begun organizing the men and women who were treating the patients as soon as they entered the great hall. It had been clear that these people meant well but none of them appeared to be in charge and that resulted in a chaotic back and forth that was not helping in the least. They seemed glad when she took charge of the situation.

"Separate those with the taint from the rest," Aislyn heard her saying. "The others will only be unsettled by their presence. Bring them to the next room. I will see to it that they are taken care of."

Her words seemed cruel. It was clear she wanted them seperated to let them die and Aislyn knew it was a necessary decision, yet she was shocked by the calmness in the elder woman's voice when she gave the order. It was as if all those hurt and dying people did not affect her in the least. That, too, probably was necessary but it also was hard to cope with.

Unable to listen on, Aislyn went over to one of the tables where the bandages and poultices were kept and started gathering some of the materials. Her head was reeling with all the horrible impressions around her. The hall was filled with the moans of the wounded and the stench of blood, sweat and some other things Aislyn did not dare thinking about for the sake of her stomach. Arik's words came to her mind again.

_Fighting is nothing like what people make of it in books and legends._

She began to understand now what that meant. The books only told of glory and victory and the brilliant feats of the heroes but they never mentioned the losses, the pain and the desperation that were all inevitably connected with the rest. No, fighting was indeed nothing like in the books at all.

Balancing her supplies on a tray over to the nearest cot, Aislyn settled down beside the woman who sat there. Part of her leather armor was cut open and revealed a nasty gash from her shoulder down to her elbow. She cast Aislyn a suspicious look when she set the tray down and reached for a small scalpel. Aislyn paused in her actions and gave a small smile that she hoped was reassuring.

"It's alright, I'm here to help. My name is Aislyn."

The woman raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked at the shoulder Arik had so thoroughly bandaged. She knew what she was thinking. The tight wrap left her with only one hand to use and that said hand held a scalpel must be anything but a comforting sight.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to cut you open or something. I just want to remove the straps so that I can clean the wound. Should be no big deal, not even with just one hand."

The look did not change but she did not protest when Aislyn carefully started cutting the buckles that held the remains of the damaged bracer. The procedure had to be painful but the woman's face did not betray any sign of discomfort. She only watched what Aislyn was doing.

"I haven't seen you around the Keep before," she said after a while when she was convinced that the other woman knew what she was doing.

Aislyn smiled, glad that the soldier decided to finally talk to her.

"My brother and I arrived here just tonight. We were surprised by the attack."

"As were we," was the regretful answer. "I don't even want to start thinking about how many men we have lost."

Unable to look at her, Aislyn dipped a cloth into the bowl of water beside her and started cleaning off the blood and dirt that had gathered in the wound. What did you say to someone who had just witnessed the slaughter of their comrades? Thankfully, the woman did not seem to expect an answer.

"So, you've been just arriving? Then one of you has to be the new Commander, I take it?" she changed the topic.

"That would be my brother, yes," Aislyn confirmed a little proudly. She remembered how excited she had been when Ioran had come to her one night and informed her of his new position. It meant they were going home. Aislyn had never fully accepted Orlais as their home. Even though she had only been about ten when Henry took them to Jader, she never really forgot about Ferelden. She missed the rough landscape and the language of her native country as well as its people and, of course, the dogs. She had also been very proud of her older brother for it meant all his hard work finally paid off.

"We were told the Commander is coming from Jader but you don't sound Orlesian."

"That's because I'm not. We've both been born in Ferelden. What about you? You are neither Orlesian nor Ferelden, am I right?"

The thought occurred to her when she applied the poultice to the woman's skin which was darker than the average Ferelden's; not to speak of the Orlesians who preferred pale skin for it was deemed noble. The light accent also didn't match.

"Rivaini," came the proud reply. "I hail from Llomerynn."

Aislyn had heard tales about Llomerynn but never actually met someone from the island city. It was said that all the excellent ships were built there and not one of them had ever gotten lost at sea.

"They have great wine in Rivain I was told," another voice chimed in and the unexpected sound of it made Aislyn jump from the cot. Her shoulder protested against the movement but she ignored it when she threw her good arm around her brother's neck with a relieved cry and hugged him tight. Ioran returned the embrace wholeheartedly but a lot more careful.

"Easy, _gamine_," he chided with a small laugh and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He smelled of mud and sweat and blood and metal but Aislyn did not care and held on to him for a moment longer, so very glad that he was still alive. She did not dare to think about the possibility that he could have been dead along with so many others but there had been a stubborn knot of fear in her stomach that only now loosened up and made room for relief and gratitude.

When he gently extricated himself from her admittedly harsh hug she noticed the gap in his armor right beside his collarbone and that he protected his shoulder from her onslaught with one hand. Her eyes grew wide with worry and she inwardly cursed herself for not having been more attentive.

"It's alright, Lyn," he assured her, reading her thoughts. "Don't worry. We had a healer with us. It's still a little tender but that's all."

As soon as she heard the word healer, Aislyn felt her muscles tense and the alarm bells in her head going off. Her eyes darted to the man at Ioran's side and her breath caught in her throat when she became aware of the ornate robes and the staff on his back.

Fear clawed at her heart with icy fingers and horrible pictures flashed in front of her inner eye: pictures of deformed, wet hands at her throat, of eyes soulless and empty and a face that was nothing short of demonic.

Unwittingly, her hand went to the hilt of her short-sword but before she could make any further move, Ioran stepped between her and the mage and stilled her hand with an iron grasp. He shook his head, a warning in his eyes. For a long moment, brother and sister stared at each other in silence before Aislyn relented and averted her eyes. Taking a deep breath she tried to calm her racing heart.

"I'm glad to hear that," she answered, remembering Ioran's words. It sounded brittle and shaky but it was all she could muster. "It's good to see you're still in one piece, brother."

With some effort, Aislyn then turned to the mage and said:

"Thank you for your help. I take it my brother would not be so well if it had not been for you."

The words could have admittedly sounded more cordial but Aislyn was too glad she got them out at all to care. Fortunately for her, the healer did not seem to care, either. He slightly bowed to her and a smug smile played around his mouth while his eyes appreciatively flew over her body.

"You're flattering me. It was no big deal, really, but who am I to complain about the thanks of such a pretty lady?"

Aislyn huffed; a very _un_ladylike sound that made the mage snicker and Ioran raise a questioning eyebrow. She was aware that she was being impolite but she couldn't suppress the sound. Her nerves were strained like bowstrings and the mage's inspection of her made her feel even more on edge. She did not even know his name and yet she wanted nothing more than getting away from him.

"You should go see Adele," Aislyn told her brother, changing the topic. "I'm sure she's ill with worry for you. You shouldn't make her wait for any news of you any longer."

She hoped it was enough to send Ioran on his way and with him the mage. It would have been nice to talk to him a little longer, make sure that he really was ok, tell him of the things that happened after he left and get some information on what in the void was going on here but as long as she was on edge the way she was right now that wouldn't make much sense.

For a moment, it looked as if Ioran wanted to object but then he just nodded and stretched out a hand to tousle her short black curls. Despite herself, Aislyn had to laugh and slapped at him with her good arm. He knew how she hated it when he did that.

"Off with you, Commander, or I'll tell Adele to mix one of her special potions for you, just in case you might not be as well as you claim to be."

An expression that was half dread, half comic desperation crossed her brother's face. They both had had their share of Adele's mixtures whenever they had been sick from too many sweets in their youth or – later on – with a massive hangover from a night in the local pub.

"And here I thought you were glad to see me. I had no idea you'd rather want me dead."

Aislyn rolled her eyes at him and grasped the cloth again she had used to clean the soldier's wound to indicate the conversation was over. Ioran took the hint and sauntered off to find Adele.

To her utter horror, the mage remained, watching her intently. She could see it from the corner of her eyes. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and when his hand gently touched her injured arm she almost jumped out of her skin.

"You should let me have a look at that shoulder of yours," he said calmly but with a cheerful undertone in his voice. It sounded as if he was commenting on the rainy weather outside.

Aislyn did not want him to treat her even though she knew that it probably was best if she let a real healer look at the injury. She was just about to reject his offer when a blue glow already engulfed his fingers and she felt comfortable warmth spread through her arm and chest. It was enough to make her jump and take a hasty retreat. The fear still gnawing at her was about to turn into fullfledged panic.

"I can't remember that I gave you permission to use your magic on me!" she hissed.

A frown appeared between the mage's brows and he stepped back a few inches. There was a flash of anger in his eyes that made her hand close around the hilt of her sword once more. It was gone again as quickly as it came, though, and the slightly mischievous smile returned to his face.

"That may be true but I thought you would prefer a little healing magic over such a painful injury. I only wanted to help, my lady."

Somewhere in the back of her head, a tiny, reasonable voice suggested that she behaved irrational; that the mage only meant well and that she was being unfair but Aislyn ignored it. She did not want to be rational and she did not want to be fair. All she wanted was for him to _leave her alone._

"There are a lot of people here who need your help more than I do. You should go and look after _them_, mage."

The last word, clearly meant as an insult, made the anger flare up in his amber eyes anew but like before, he restrained the feeling and gave her a mock bow.

"As the pretty lady wishes."

Aislyn turned away with yet another huff. The man's brash attitude scraped at her nerves. Added to the discomfort that was already caused by the situation as a whole, she had a hard time keeping her wits about her. Only when she was sure he heeded her advice and turned his attention elsewhere, she dared to relax and acknowledge the fact that her shoulder felt a great deal better than it did a few minutes ago. A slight feeling of guilt tried to worm its way into her stomach but again Aislyn chose to ignore the notion.

Mages were dangerous and needed to be heeded with caution. She had witnessed with her own eyes what happened when a mage turned into an abomination. Had it not been for Ioran and Adele, Aislyn had no doubt she would be dead now. The experience left her with a deep-seated mistrust and fear for any and all mages. No matter what some people might think, Aislyn was convinced that any of them could become possessed by a demon at any given time and that they needed to be watched and controlled.

Shaking her head, she forced the gloomy thoughts back into the deepest recesses of her mind. Thinking about it just made her feel more uncomfortable than she already was. It took her long enough to bury the memories. Now was not the time to dig them back out.

Aislyn picked up her tray and went on to the next cot. Better to concern herself with the present. She already spent too much time on her brooding while she should heed her own advice and help those who needed it, just like she told the mage.

Straightening her back, she forced a smile back on her face as she looked at the boy on the makeshift bed in front of her. He seemed no older than twelve and his eyes were wide and fearful when he returned her gaze. Aislyn's heart tightened with compassion for him. The kid trembled like a leaf in the wind. His face was smeared with blood and dirt and made his brown eyes look even larger. His left leg stood in a strange ankle from the rest of his body, obviously broken, and there were scratches and cuts all over his arms and chest.

Aislyn took a deep breath. She had not been aware that there were children at the Keep even though it was a logical thought. The soldiers and wardens were not the only occupants of the fortress. There were servants and merchants as well and some of them had to have family they brought along. She hoped that the majority of them were safe and unharmed. No child should be witness to what had transpired that night.

"Hey there, young man," she addressed the boy in as cheerful a voice as she could muster. "I'm Aislyn. Care if I sit down?"

He did not answer but kept staring at her as if she suddenly had grown a second set of arms.

_What did you expect? The kid is scared as hell._

Slowly, she sank down on the edge of the cot with her tray of supplies on her lap. That little action caused the boy to retreat from her as far as he could and as fast as his broken leg allowed. Aislyn suppressed the instinct to reach out for him and stroke the youngster's face to comfort him. It would probably only result in him tumbling off the bed in an attempt to avoid the gesture. She had to think of something else to gain his trust. As frightened and mistrusting as he was he would never let her have a look at his leg.

An idea formed in her head when she tried to move into a more comfortable position and felt the bandage around her chest tighten with the effort. Thanks to the mages unwanted healing-spell, her shoulder felt a lot better by now and Aislyn was quite sure that, if she was careful, she won't need the strapping anymore. It would make things easier if she was able to use both hands again.

"Do you think I could ask you a favor?" she inquired, setting the tray aside and pulling a small knife from one of her boots. "I wondered if you could help me get that bandage off. You look as if you are the kind of gentleman who would help a lady in need."

She held out the knife to him; a pretty little blade with the head of a dragon engraved in the hilt. Aislyn was quite sure the design would appeal to the kid. She had yet to meet a boy who was not intrigued by any kinds of weapons.

A frown appeared on his forehead as his eyes wandered back and forth between her and the knife and she saw his fingers twitching, wanting to grab the offered blade.

"Go on, take it," Aislyn gently prodded. "You'd really do me a great favor."

After a few more moments of hesitation, the boy finally reached out and took the knife from her hand. As she expected, he looked at it with an expression of awe. It seemed he was one of those kids whose parents won't allow him the use of anything pointy because they thought him too young.

"What's your name?" she gently asked, hoping that this time she would get an answer out of him. His big brown eyes briefly darted her way before they fixed on the knife again.

"Gavin, ma'am," he said in a low voice. Aislyn suppressed a chuckle. She couldn't remember that anyone had ever called her _ma'am_ before. In fact, had anyone ever done so, he would have walked home with one or two teeth less in his mouth but coming from the kid, it almost sounded like a title of honor.

"Gavin," she repeated. "That's a good name. I once knew a Gavin back in Jader, you know? A great warrior; slew a high dragon all by himself."

Now Aislyn got the kid's full attention. He gawked at her with his mouth agape and eyes wide this time in fascination instead of fear.

"Really? A real high dragon?"

She nodded vehemently.

"A real high dragon, I swear."

Unwittingly, Gavin bent closer. He was dying to hear the story of adventure that hid behind her words but did not quite dare to ask her to tell him about it.

"You want to hear about him? I'll tell you if you let me have a look at your leg when you're done with the bandage," Aislyn offered, hoping he would take the bait. Another moment of hesitation followed, suspicion creeping back into his eyes, yet his curiosity finally got the better of him or he simply came to the conclusion that she probably wasn't all that bad.

"Okay," he agreed with a nod and bent further towards her, the knife firmly grasped in his small hand. Aislyn watched him with amusement as he began cutting the bandages, tongue between his teeth, all concentration and earnestness and very careful not to hurt her with the sharp little blade. Strap after strap fell down on the cot and before long the unnerving pressure on her chest was gone and made her take a deep, relieved breath. Carefully, she rotated her shoulder and stretched her arms.

"Much better," she sighed and gratefully smiled at Gavin, who looked quite satisfied with himself and even gifted her with a small smile of his own.

"Now I guess I owe you a story, right?"

The boy nodded excitedly and even the prospect of letting her look at his injuries in exchange for it did not seem to faze him so much anymore. He did not shrink back when Aislyn wet a fresh cloth and began wiping at the blood and dirt on his face. She deliberately started there in order to gain Gavin's full trust before she tended to the leg. It would hurt, no matter how careful she would be and she would need him to stay calm then.

"Alright, so… this story happened a few years back. There was a really hot summer in Jader and everyone was suffering from the heat…"

Aislyn watched with delight how the kid's eyes began to shine the further the story progressed. It seemed it had been just the thing to do and surprisingly enough, it also served to make her feel better as well. Amidst all this suffering, she certainly did not intend to have fun but sitting there on that cot with that little boy, telling him fabulous stories about brave warriors and furious dragons was just that. It made her feel guilty but it also felt as if she was doing something right after everything that went so terribly wrong that night and that was a good thing, wasn't it?


	9. Council of War

**Council of War**

He was exhausted. His eyes were burning with fatigue and every move was an effort but Arik knew he could not allow himself to rest just now.

So many dead. So many wounded. A part of him was horrified by the sight, the sound and the smell of all those sick and injured people. It made him want to run and hide somewhere in a deep hole where he would not see or hear anything.

Maker, he was tired. The weight of his armor made his back hurt and he felt as if he was trying to walk underwater. His head hurt, too. The bump where he hit the wall back on the roof still felt tender to the touch and he was about to develop a headache. Arik wished for nothing more than a place to sleep. If he could, he would have just sat down on the floor in some corner and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, they were not done, yet.

The Commander insisted on a meeting as soon as they had something to eat and warmed up a little. Arik's stomach churned in displeasure with the thought of food. He felt as if he would never be able to eat something again. The feeling would pass, he knew, though. It was just a reaction to the horrors of the night, to the fear, the stress and the tension. As soon as he was able to rest, he had no doubt he would find that he was ravenous.

Despite the discomfort, Arik accepted the slices of dried meat and the tankard of water some helpful soul offered him as soon as they entered the great hall. At least the water was welcome. The acrid smoke all over the place had left his throat sour and raw; not to speak of the unbearable taste of death that lay on his tongue like old grease and refused to go away. In some part, that was the hardest thing of it all; the assault on every sense by the foulness all around. You could close your eyes, yet you smelled the decay, heard the screams, felt the dirt and the gore on your hands. You could try to ignore the sounds, yet you saw the corpses, tasted the coppery tang of blood. No matter how hard you tried, it simply did not go away and when you finally slipped into a restless slumber, the nightmares were sure to come and torment you further in your dreams.

Arik knew all about it, having lived through it at Ostagar and afterwards. Even months after the massacre, he still woke every night, screaming and thrashing about, with the screams in his head and the smell in his nose. He thought he was going crazy. Had it not been for Samuel, Arik was sure he would have either drowned in a bottle or succumbed to madness. The groundskeeper of Vigil's Keep found him on the road from Amaranthine one day, completely wasted and babbling about Darkspawn and Archdemons. He took pity on him and brought him to the Keep where he was allowed to sleep it off and get a warm meal. Samuel, knowing a thing or two about war himself, had also talked to the Guard Captain and convinced him to offer Arik a place among his men, assuring the soldier all he needed was a purpose to recover.

It turned out he had been right. After some weeks, the nightmares became less frequent and less frightening. It was also helping that Amaranthine lay on the northern borders of Ferelden and the Blight was far away in the southern regions. To the day, he had no idea how he had managed the weeks-long trip from Ostagar to Amaranthine. Everything about that time was nothing but a swirl of feelings and impressions and Arik did not care to try and remember and so he pushed the thought away as far as he could.

This was a different battle, a different time with different problems and he was better advised to concentrate on that.

_A lack of concentration, a single distraction can be your death on a battlefield. _

The lecture had been hammered into his head in his training over and over again and then some. Even if the fights were over for now, that did not mean they were safe, not by a long shot. None of them even had the inkling of an idea what this strange attack was about. They could not be sure that there won't be a second onslaught, could they?

With a pained grunt, Arik stood from the bench he had been sitting on and took a last sip of water before he slowly made his way over to a narrow door at the other end of the hall. It was a small office that once belonged to an attendant of sorts. He had seen Ioran disappear in there a few minutes back and decided it was time he joined the man. The Commander had asked for his attendance as well as the seneschal's and Lieutenant Garavel's. The young warrior – Mhairi – was still unconscious and Anders was needed in the hall. Arik briefly wondered if he should inform Ioran's sister as well but when he looked over at the woman – and noted with some disapproval that she did not wear the bandage anymore – she was busy taking care of a boy with a broken leg, obviously telling him some kind of story the way she animatedly moved her hands about while she talked. The sight made him smile. Maybe it was better he left her where she was. Aislyn seemed to have a feeling for the needs of the patients and Anders certainly would be glad about every help he could get.

On his way to the office, Arik briefly listened in on what it was Aislyn was telling the boy and caught a few snatches about dragons and a warrior by the name of Gavin. Of course it would be an adventure story, he thought with yet another smile. It was quick to fade again, though, when he heard heated voices coming from inside the smaller room he was approaching. It seemed there was an argument going on and from the sound of it, it was far from over. He recognized Lieutenant Garavel's voice easily enough for he knew very well what it sounded like to be shouted at by the man. Arik almost felt sorry for the poor fellow who was at the receiving end of his current tirade.

"… is all your fault!" he heard Garavel fuming when he opened the door. "If you had allowed Captain Haynes to take security measures as he saw fit this would never have happened!"

The man's face was red with fury and he pointed an accusing finger at the seneschal on the other side of the table. It seemed if the furniture had not been between them, Garavel would have his hands at the other man's throat by now. The Commander stood a little off the scene, arms crossed over his chest and watching the exchange coolly.

Unsure if he was welcome, Arik remained under the doorframe. He felt as if he was interrupting something that was completely none of his business. Only when Ioran's piercing gaze met his and he nodded his approval at him, he dared stepping into the room and close the door behind him.

"It seemed more sensible at the time to cover the grounds! Nobody was expecting an attack from within!" Varel defended his decision, voice as raised and annoyed as Garavel's.

"Wait, hold on a second," Ioran interrupted as the two opponents tried to stare each other down, "What do you mean from _within_?"

Arik frowned at the seneschal's words. This was news to him as well; disturbing news. He was not surprised that he did not hear about it earlier for he was no officer. What did surprise him, though, was that Ioran was left in the dark up until now as well. One might think Varel would have briefed him about the details as soon as he got the chance to do so. And there had been plenty of chances since they had left the Keep's roof.

"The attack started in the courtyard, ser," Garavel explained. "They came out of the earth right in the middle of it. The only warning we had was a rumbling like there was a minor earthquake and then the ground exploded and they were upon us."

Arik remembered the hole in the yard. It had been almost half the size of said space but since there had been various explosions around the area during the battle, he did not think that it was the origin of the Darkspawn's attack. It did make sense, however. Soldiers had been all over the ground, patrolling. An attack from outside would have been spotted immediately and they would have had enough time to organize a counterattack. An ambush from within the Keep… well, that was a different matter entirely.

"I see," the Commander said. His blue eyes reminded Arik of glacial ice as he stared at Varel. He was pretty glad that he was not the one this stare was directed at. "And when, if I may ask, would you have informed me about that minor fact, _seneschal_?"

The man had the good graces to lower his eyes and look humbled with the reprimand. Arik could only begin to imagine how Ioran must feel about this revelation. Having his authority undermined in front of his officers like this had to be humiliating and serving to make him feel as if he was not welcome here and, moreover, not capable enough.

"There are a lot of other matters right now that require your attention, Commander; I did not deem it wise to bother you with details about the attack before it was necessary."

A long, icy silence followed that explanation that was no explanation but almost an insult to the Commander's intelligence. Arik saw the rapid pulsing of the vein at Ioran's neck. The man was furious beyond words but he kept his calm, his face a guarded blank. When he finally spoke up again, his voice was as neutral as his features.

"Just to avoid … misunderstandings… like these in the future: I want to be informed about _everything_ that is amiss in this place no matter how unimportant it seems at the time. _I_ will decide what is important and what is not for it is _I _who is responsible for the Keep and its inhabitants from this day forth. I strongly recommend that every one of you reminds that fact before you make decisions of your own."

The stony gaze wandered from Varel to Garavel to Arik to make sure the order was understood loud and clear before it went back to Varel. The seneschal bowed his head in acceptance even though he did not appear to be impressed.

_You better should be, old man. That guy doesn't seem to be someone to mess with._

"Of course, Commander. I apologize for my misinterpretation. It will not happen again, I assure you."

Ioran nodded curtly at that but did not acknowledge the forced apology in any other way. Any further attention to the topic would have betrayed a certain vulnerability Arik knew he couldn't afford. He turned to Garavel instead, who by now stood at attention like a soldier in his first year, reluctant respect showing in his eyes. If the situation had been any less serious, Arik would have laughed about the Lieutenant's behavior because usually, it was he who evoked such a reaction from his subordinates. Garavel was not a bad fellow but he was a no-nonsense kind of guy who believed in order and discipline and saw to it that those qualities were honored among his men. The soldiers respected and feared him for that for he did not hesitate to order hard penalties when he believed them necessary. To see that very same man intimidated by somebody else was a first for Arik and one that he would not forget anytime soon.

"I was informed earlier on that Captain Haynes did not survive the fight," Ioran said, and there was real compassion in his words even though he did not know the man. "I am sorry for his loss but that leaves me without a Guard Captain. You seem like a capable man, Lieutenant. I don't like the thought of placing someone in Haynes' position who is a stranger to your men so it is my intention to put you up as his successor. Are you willing to accept the post?"

Arik saw Garavel swallowing. He obviously did not expect such an offer. Surprise was written all over his face but he was quick to school his expression into neutrality again and saluted the Commander.

"It would be my honor, ser," he exclaimed and Ioran nodded, having expected nothing else.

"Agreed then. Congratulations, Captain Garavel. I only wished the circumstances of your promotion would have been different. There will be a service held for the fallen as soon as possible. Unfortunately, we have neither the supplies nor the time to grant every soldier an individual burial. There are…" There his voice wavered for a moment and Arik could tell how hard it was for him to say the next words. "There are simply too many and the risk of an epidemic is too big. Your first task at hand will be to inform your men about the situation and prepare a mass incineration. Are you up to that, Captain?"

Garavel took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yes, Commander."

Arik felt bile rising in his throat along with a sharp bite of fury in his stomach. He fully understood Ioran's decision. It was the only way to deal with the numerous dead – human and Darkspawn alike – but the mere thought of it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. These soldiers deserved better. They had all been honorable men who deserved an honorable burial. Having them thrown on a pile along with the Darkspawn filth and burnt without the proper rites seemed like a sacrilege.

Images of Ostagar wormed their way into his head again; images of too many of those piles. He could almost smell the fetid stench of burning flesh again.

_Don't go there! That's been long past! This is no new Blight!_

He focused on Ioran instead who had started speaking again.

"This ambush has been a novelty. Let us summarize what we know so far. One: The Darkspawn were more organized than they usually are and they had a strategy. Two: Their leader was a new kind of Darkspawn and he was capable of speech. He also was a lot stronger than any of his brethren we encountered before. If it had not been for Varel, I don't know if we would have survived that fight. Three: The leader claimed he was sent to negotiate, that means he had a purpose to be here."

"Any idea about what that purpose might have been?" Garavel interjected.

"It seemed to me they were aiming to win the Commander over for… I don't know; whatever it is they plan," Arik said. "The talking Darkspawn insisted that everyone except him should be killed and even when it had him at its mercy it hesitated to deal the killing blow. Instead it tried to make you an offer; you, Commander, and only you."

The last part had been directed at Ioran and the other man nodded with a contemplative frown on his brow. It was easy to tell what he was thinking. It made no sense. This scenario was simply too fantastic to provide them with any useful information. It was all a big, mysterious puzzle lacking the vital pieces.

"But what does that mean? He was certainly not interested in me personally because he said he'd find another one when I refused to listen to him."

"He could have been looking for a Grey Warden," Varel quietly suggested, eyes fixed on the tabletop. The remark came so unexpected that everyone fell silent and stared at the seneschal. It was the first thing he said since the Commander had knocked him down a peg. When he got no answer, Varel looked up and regarded them in turn.

"Think about it," he explained. "You have been the only Warden up there and the Darkspawn can sense your presence as well as you can sense theirs if I remember correctly. They would know what you are. And the talking Darkspawn addressed you accordingly, calling you _warden._ Whatever their purpose, I am almost certain that it has to have something to do with the taint. It is the only explanation up to the point that makes at least a little sense."

Arik was inclined to agree with the seneschal's theory but…

"Why wait for the Commander? There have been at least twenty other Wardens at the Keep. Why not try to negotiate with them?"

"I don't know," Varel admitted with a shrug. "Coincidence? Intent? A last straw? Maybe he did try to negotiate with them? Maybe they declined as well? We will have to question your fellow guardsmen if anyone was witness to interactions between the Wardens and the Darkspawn other than combat. Until then, we can only guess."

Arik cast a glance at Ioran who appeared to be deeply in thought. He had begun pacing the room a while ago and if he hadn't known better, Arik would have thought the man was not listening to the conversation at all.

"Losing ourselves in speculations here is futile," he finally spoke into the silence. "I agree with Varel that it could have something to do with the taint and I intend to investigate that suggestion further but right now we should be careful not to jump to conclusions. We have to be vigilant until we know more. For now, go to bed. Get some rest. The next days and weeks will be hard for all of us. You will need all your strength. You're dismissed."

Relief was clearly palpable in the air with that last order. They all were exhausted and ready to collapse on the spot. Arik itched to get out of his armor and into bed. There was nothing left to do for now, anyway, and so he saluted the other men and left the office.

The great hall had become silent as well. Activity there did no longer remind him of a buzzing bee hive. Some people were still up, keeping an eye on the patients, among them Anders and Aislyn but the atmosphere was a lot more relaxed. It seemed the worst was over for the time being.

With a sigh, Arik dragged himself out of the hall and in direction of the barracks. The feeling of trying to walk underwater resembled the effort of wading through sticky mud now and it got worse with every additional step he was forced to take. By the time he reached his bunk, Arik did not bother to remove his armor but simply collapsed on the mattress. He knew he would regret the foolishness of sleeping in his gear in the morning but he did not feel able to make one more move. Even the prospect of nightmares was not able to disturb him anymore. He closed his eyes and pushed any further thoughts to the farthest corner of his mind. No worries anymore. At least not for the rest of the night. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would deal with everything tomorrow again.


	10. Nightmares

**Nightmares**

_She ran down an endless hallway, the echo of her rapid steps reflected by her just as rapidly beating heart._

_It was following her, she knew it. _

_That _thing… _that horrible creature that had wormed its way out of her friend's skin as if he was nothing but a cocoon that needed to be shed._

Don't let it catch you! You're dead if it catches you!

_Legs feeling like jelly and lungs screaming for air, she forced one foot in front of the other, not daring to slow down. Fear fueled her will to move on._

_Her eyes were locked on the wardrobe way down the hall but no matter how fast she ran, the blighted thing wouldn't come any closer. A frustrated whimper left her burning throat. She needed to reach that wardrobe. It would not find her if she made it there, now would it?_

_She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. The corridor behind her was completely empty but she knew, she just _knew,_ it was there, waiting like a spider in its net for her to trip and fall. _

_Over the sound of her steps she heard it's breathing, low and calm and threatening. Even though it was nowhere to be seen it felt as if the creature was already breathing down her neck. Desperately, she lunged forward…_

… _and the scene changed. _

_Everything went dark and silent. _

_Inside the dubious safety of the wardrobe, she huddled into a ball, hell-bent on making no traitorous noise. Her limbs were shaking, cold sweat dampened her skin and mingled with the blood seeping from the burning slash wound in her side._

Please, sweet Andraste, don't let it find me!

_Shuffling sounds penetrated the all-encompassing silence, became louder and then stopped right in front of her hiding place. She clamped her hands over her mouth to choke the scream that wanted to escape and held her breath. _

_A squeal was to be heard next, terrified and pained. It made the blood in her veins run cold._

_"Come out, little imp", a gravelly voice, twisted and yet familiar, baited. "If you do, maybe I will leave your pet alive."_

_Hot tears ran down her cheeks and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Bile gathered under her tongue but she did not move. There was nothing she could do for the poor little mabari in the creature's hold. It was doomed to die and it broke her heart but she had to think of her own survival now. It was just an animal after all._

_There was a dry snap, like the snapping of branches in fall, then the wet slump of a small body hitting the stone floor. _

_She couldn't breathe anymore even if she wanted to and her head began spinning from the lack of oxygen. Grief and horror strangled her throat. Behind her clammy hands, her mouth was opened in a silent cry._

Adele! Brother! Anyone! Help me!

_CRACK!_

_The ear-splitting noise of splintering wood finally tore the scream from her lungs. Before she could even think of moving, a dark, deformed hand reeking of decay closed around her neck and lifted her up as easily as if she was nothing but a ragdoll. _

_"There you are, little imp." _

_Her arms and legs helplessly flailed about as the thing slowly, pleasurably tightened its grasp around her throat. Its head was tilted to the side as if it was curious about her reaction. Brown eyes, devoid of the warmth and compassion that once had been there, studied her every move._

_"Luca," she gasped. "Luca, please…"_

_The creature brought its distorted face close to hers, so close she could see every fleshy proliferation under its shining, discolored skin. Even though there was no mouth visible anywhere in that face, she heard a chuckle, cruel and amused._

_From the corner of her eyes she saw the creature raising its other hand with the palm up and a sickening red spark glowing eerily in the center. In nameless panic, her fingers clawed at the arm holding her, digging into soft flesh, leaving deep scratches that spouted a yellowish liquid instead of blood but in was in vain. Her desperate efforts did not even trigger a reaction._

_"Be a nice girl and say _goodbye, Luca," _the dry voice taunted. Her world exploded in a flash of pain and…_

…Aislyn screamed. She screamed until her throat was raw.

Trembling and terrified and covered in sweat she scrambled out of bed and fell to her knees in front of the washstand, throwing up until her stomach was empty and nothing but bile would come out anymore. Dry sobs escaped her in between ragged gasps. Panic still swirled through every fiber of her body and made her dry-heave several more times.

Her mind was in a jumble and only slowly allowed her to register her surroundings: the gray, unfamiliar stone walls, the equally unfamiliar rug under her feet, the slightly musty smell of a long-empty room.

The Vigil.

Her brother's new post.

Their new home.

_You're not in Jader anymore and this is not where it happened. It's just been a nightmare. Just a nightmare…_

Resting her head on the edge of the basin, Aislyn closed her eyes, trying to will her breath to return to normal. Bright spots of light danced behind her lids and she felt weak and boneless. Despite knowing that nothing of what she just went through was real, she felt the pain in her side again where Luca – _no, _she corrected herself, _the abomination – _had injured her.

_Luca._

Tears began to sting her eyes with the memory of her childhood friend. They had known each other in and out, inseparable as they had been before he was brought to the Circle. Never in her wildest dreams did she think he could ever give in to a demon.

Luca had been a calm boy, yet clever and always up to mischief. He had been strong and self-confident in a laid-back, easy-going way and those qualities became ever more evident the older he got. Of all mages, he seemed to be the least likely to become possessed.

In the letters Aislyn received during his apprenticeship, Luca never spoke ill about the Circle, never complained. He seemed to be content with his life there, even enjoying it. Or so she thought.

There must have been something wrong but she never found out what it was. Luca never explained his reasons for striking a deal with a demon. One afternoon, shortly after he dad passed his Harrowing and they were allowed to see each other again, he simply stood on her doorstep with that calm smile of his and she invited him in just as always. Nothing had seemed amiss until suddenly his body began to change. Before she knew what happened, Luca had attacked her and Aislyn only barely managed to get away from him.

She had been lucky that Adele came back home early from her trip to the market that day and that, for some reason Aislyn never investigated, Ioran had been with her. The fury in her brother's voice when he rushed at the abomination Luca had become still rang in her ears today, seven years later. It had been horrible and at the same time relieving to see him run his sword through that thing's middle without hesitation.

With some effort, Aislyn shook the painful memories and rose to her feet, stumbling back to the bed. Her hands were still trembling when she lit the candles on the nightstand in desperate need for a little light to chase away the frightening darkness. She mentally cursed herself for her weakness. That nightmare should not be able to scare her to the bone; not anymore, that was. Seven years was a long time. One would think she had worked things out by now.

Then again, it had been a while since the dreams had last been so vivid. Anger began to mix with the last remains of fear and she gladly concentrated on that new notion. It was all that mage's fault! She had been able to avoid being the subject to any kind of magic ever since Luca and she would have preferred to keep it that way but no, the mage had to interfere. Had he kept his blighted hands to himself instead of forcing his magic on her, this nightmare would have never come back the way it did. Once more her mistrust turned out to be justified. Wherever there were mages there was trouble and usually not the good kind.

_Good for nothing, thrice-cursed robes*! Maker take 'em all!_

The anger helped Aislyn to finally overcome the aftermath of her nightmare. Not that it was overly healthy to hold onto it but it was all that much better than dwelling in that damp, dark hole that was her greatest fear.

Even though still a little shaky, she got out of bed once more and dipped a cloth into the water jug on the vanity, rubbing it over her face, neck and arms until her sticky, sweat-soaked skin felt fresh and clean again. Reason told her to lie back down after that and get some more sleep but the mere thought of even attempting to close her eyes made her nervous. No, Aislyn decided while she got dressed, the better course of action would probably be to busy herself with something instead.

Considering her options, she settled on finding Adele. Since the sun was due to rise soon, she was quite sure that her elderly servant would already be up and about tending to some business or another. Maybe she needed a helping hand. Right now, Aislyn did not even care about what task Adele would have for her as long as it kept her from thinking too much.

It was still quiet in the hallways when she left her room in search for the other woman. Not many people crossed her way and Aislyn was grateful for that. Having to make polite small-talk would definitely exceed her abilities as well as her patience right now but it seemed it was not just her who felt that way. The faces of the few men and women she met looked either frightened or sullen and when they spoke to one another – if they spoke at all – they did it in hushed tones like one would in a graveyard.

Aislyn shuddered with the thought. Unfortunately, it was an all too fitting description for what the Keep was right now. Looking out one of the windows she had passed, she had seen two large funeral pyres on a field just behind the fortress walls. It had been an eerie sight, the only light in the pitch black of the night, and it reminded her of how many people lost their lives in just a few hours.

She wished she could have helped them. She wished Ioran would have taken her along when he rushed in to defend the Keep. Aislyn was sure she could have been of assistance. It also would have been a perfect opportunity to show her brother what she was made of, that she was a warrior just like him. It surely would have changed his mind about her joining the guard.

_Or not._

Maybe she should not hang her hopes too high. He had seen her fight before and it did not bias his decision in the least. Adele had told her to be patient, that Ioran only had her best interest in mind and that her time would come. It wasn't that she didn't know that. There were a lot of unflattering things she could call her brother but uncaring was not one of them. Aislyn knew he loved her and wanted to protect his baby-sister. It was just the way he chose to do it that did not suit her. Ever since Henry died, Ioran had taken to patronize her and ever since they were fighting about it.

Come to think of it, it was the only thing besides her wish of becoming a soldier they were arguing about at all but that did not make it easier. Aislyn felt as if there was a wedge between them that was driven deeper and deeper the longer they were fighting about one and the same things.

She thought of the moment when she had embraced him in the great hall, remembered the smile on his face and the caring tenderness that had been in his eyes when he looked at her. He even tousled her hair. It was just a little gesture and even though her thoughts had been too preoccupied to really appreciate it, it had meant a lot to her. The last time Ioran did that must have been at least three or four years ago. Aislyn caught herself thinking how much she missed that silent understanding, that closeness Ioran and she had shared when they had been children.

A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. How many times did Ioran have a part in her and Luca's pranks? How many times did her brother take a punishment she deserved? How many times did he comfort her when she was sad or bothered by something? Why couldn't it be like that anymore?

The smile faded again and Aislyn sighed. Those thoughts did not help making her feel any better and she shoved them back when she entered the great hall from where she already had heard Adele bellowing orders.

It seemed her guess had been right that she would find her teacher somewhere in the middle of the action despite the early hour. Knowing Adele, the woman probably did not sleep an hour that night, seeing to it that things went as smooth as possible.

When she saw Aislyn coming through the door, however, Adele immediately abandoned the tirade she was currently raining down on some unfortunate soldier and hurried her way, expression quickly changing from upset to worried. Aislyn instantly wished she had taken a little more time on her appearance before she left her room. Only now it occurred to her that she might not look all too representative with her uncombed hair and hastily assembled clothing. Maker, she did not even check if she was wearing matching shoes!

But Adele did not look at her rumpled outfit. Her eyes were solely trained on her charge's face and Aislyn knew her motherly confidant saw right to the bottom of what was going on. She had crawled into Adele's bed more nights than she could count when the nightmares first started. There was nothing she could or needed to hide from the other woman.

For a long moment, Adele held her gaze, watching her intently. Somehow, Aislyn felt as if she was eleven years old again, waiting to be scolded for some prank or another. It was a feeling one got a lot when met by this inquisitorial look from her piercing, gray eyes.

There was no scolding, though. In fact, there was no comment concerning her disheveled appearance at all.

"Get something to eat," Adele ordered instead, much to her surprise. "And then go and tend to that boy of yours. He won't let anyone near him other than… how did he call you… ah yes, the _story-lady_. The lad's almost as stubborn as you."

Aislyn's eyes unwittingly darted to the cot near the fireplace where she had been sitting for the better part of the night, telling Gavin about his namesake, Gavin the Dragon Slayer. An elderly woman was with him, trying to coax him into eating something but the child held his arms firmly crossed over his narrow chest, eyes just as firmly locked on the flickering fire, ignoring the woman completely. Aislyn suppressed a chuckle.

"Blast and damnation, what are you laughing about, girl? Don't just stand there gaping! We've got a lot of work to do," Adele interrupted her observations. "When you're done with the boy meet me at the kitchens. I've got to talk to you about… some things."

There was a short pause in that last statement that made Aislyn frown. It sounded as if Adele wanted to say something totally different but before she could ask her about it, the other woman was already gone again. With a shrug, Aislyn made her way over to where the slightly frustrated servant still tried to get Gavin to eat.

"I'll take it from here, thank you," she said and took the bowl from the woman who shot her a grateful smile before she stood and hurried off elsewhere. Gavin's face lightened up immediately as he recognized her voice.

"Story-lady! You've come back! I'd hoped you come back!"

"I told you my name's Aislyn but you can also call me Lyn if you like that better. Now, are you hungry? The stew in here looks pretty good."

The boy nodded eagerly.

"Mighty hungry," he admitted, beaming up at her. "Are you going to tell me more stories about them big dragons?"

Aislyn's smile widened into a genuine grin. Gavin's enthusiasm was infectious. It was good that at least someone did not lose their spirit in this dire place. He sure witnessed his share of death and blood during the attack but it seemed he was dealing quite well with it so far.

"Of course I will. If you promise me not to leave a single drop in that bowl, that is."

It did not take very long for the bowl to shine as clean as if newly polished and Aislyn propped her feet up on the cot. Coming down here had been just the right thing to do, she thought with renewed confidence as she began her tale of another adventure of Gavin the Dragon Slayer.

* For all those who wonder: To call a mage _robe _is a grave insult.


	11. The First Morning

**The First Morning**

He did not sleep very well. There had been too much on his mind to grant him a peaceful rest. Nightmares also got hold of him again. Those dreams were a constant companion for a warden. Most of them learned to block them out after some time but they were always looming in the shadows, waiting to surface again.

Ioran did not acknowledge it at first but the closer they got to Vigil's Keep, the worse the nightmares became. It was a warning that there was something amiss. A warning he ignored. He thought it was because of the strenuous journey and because they traveled through a country that had recently seen a Blight. The scars the Darkspawn Horde had left were still evident and barely healed.

He should have been more vigilant. If he had recognized the dreams for what they were maybe he could have prevented the worst of the attack.

_Don't be stupid. The other wardens must have had the same nightmares and it didn't help them to do anything about the ambush, either._

Ioran knew there was no use in blaming himself for something he had no chance of knowing about beforehand but it did not help with the guilt he felt anyway. To distract himself, he retrieved the diaries from his backpack King Alistair had given him at West Hill. Sleep wouldn't come to him anymore that night so why not do something useful and study them until he had to get back to duty?

The diaries contained a detailed report about the Blight from the Hero of Ferelden himself, the king had said. Every Commander of the Grey had to keep a journal but since there had been only two wardens left in all of Ferelden after the massacre at Ostagar, Jaden Cousland decided he would hold up the tradition instead.

Ioran hoped to find something - anything - in those books that could help him with the problem at hand. Had the hero's group encountered talking Darkspawn before? Did they know where these creatures came from? Had there been any clue as to what that mysterious mission could be the Darkspawn on the roof had talked about?

To his great disappointment, there was no mentioning whatsoever of talking Darkspawn or anything even vaguely related. Cousland had been quite thorough in his descriptions. There were quite some details about the horde and the archdemon Ioran did not know about but unfortunately none of it had anything to do with the current situation at the Keep so far.

Maybe there would be more information in one of the other journals. There were three of them and Ioran only made it through the first one when the sun finally rose in the east and his stomach began to growl its need for breakfast. He would not give up hope yet. It also might be a good idea to let someone else have a look at the books as well. Maybe he missed something which was entirely possible considering that there was so much content to read through and that he was operating on a lack of sleep.

With a sigh, Ioran closed the stained leather cover and stretched his aching back before he stood from his desk.

_Time to get dressed._

His eyes came to rest on the armor he carelessly discarded in a corner of the room last night. The metal looked blind and neglected. Dried blood covered almost every piece of it. His hand unwittingly went to his still tender shoulder when he spotted the hole in the plate where the Darkspawn's blade went through. The memory still sent a shiver down his spine and he turned away from the grizzly sight. The armor was worthless until it was cleaned and repaired - or at least that was what he tried to tell himself.

If he was honest, Ioran simply did not feel comfortable putting that damn junk of metal back on. He never felt completely at home in it anyway. It had belonged to another warden before it came into his possession and never really fit properly. The order always had to rely on the findings they occasionally made in the Deep Roads or the good graces of kings and queens to finance their warriors and equipment. There simply was no coin for custom made armor. He tried to improve it as best he could but there always was that last bit of resentment, the knowledge that it was not his and that one of his brothers probably had died wearing it.

Another sigh left him as he trudged over to the mud-covered trunk some thoughtful servant had placed at the foot of his bed. He knelt down and ran his hand over the familiar crest on the lid before he wiped at least some of the dust and dirt off. It made him glad that their belongings could have been saved. It was all they had left from their lives back in Orlais and their family.

The lid creaked softly when he opened it and revealed a mess of rumpled clothes, toiletries, books and other stuff. It seemed their luggage did not take the attack too well after all. But he should be grateful for small blessings. At least nothing was pilfered and most of his things looked still intact.

Ioran dug to the bottom of the chest until his fingers brushed over sturdy leather. The feel of it brought a smile to his face and he pulled the piece out. It was a part of his old practice armor, the style and making similar to the one Aislyn wore. The matching sets had been gifts for them.

Adele insisted they both needed suitable protection when they decided to _jump at the other's throat like mad mabaris_ as she had put it whenever they held a training session. Her description of their fights was not too far from the truth, he admitted, especially when they had had one of their various arguments before. On more than one occasion Aislyn and he decided to solve their differences in the cage.

He laughed at the memory. It had not really been a cage, that small yard in the back of their home, but they used to call it that because it had been completely surrounded by buildings on three sides and a high and solid fence on the forth. There had been no way in or out except for the barred door that led into the house. Those had been good times, Ioran thought a little wistfully as he strapped the leathern chest piece on.

The familiar weight was consoling, much more than his metal armor ever had been. It instilled a confidence in him he badly needed. It might not be the proper attire for a Commander of the Grey but he didn't really care as long as it served its purpose and made him feel comfortable.

His stomach growled again, strongly reminding him that he did not have a proper meal since they left West Hill. Food on the road had been scanty for they preferred to travel as light as possible. For the last few days they had to do with dried meat and some fruit they found on the way.

Ioran grabbed his sword from its place by the door and left his room in search for the kitchens. He did not come far, though. He had only rounded the corner of the corridor when someone called for him. To his dismay, it turned out to be Varel. Ioran had hoped to avoid the man at least until after a decent breakfast even though he already suspected that he would cross his way sooner. The seneschal took his duties very seriously and would certainly not sleep in when the whole fortress was in a state of emergency.

"Good to see that you are already up, Commander," Varel greeted him. He gave a short bow of his grey head while his eyes disapprovingly regarded Ioran's choice of clothing. "If you don't mind, I would like to discuss a few things with you."

Of course he did mind but unfortunately that was nothing he could tell the man to his face. Their relationship was already strained since that argument last night and he did not intend to inflict even more damage as of yet.

If he liked it or not, he needed Varel. The seneschal was the only one who knew how to deal with the politics of the Arling and he had been around long enough to know the Keep and its inhabitants in and out. The king also mentioned that Varel had some unique insight into Grey Warden affairs; a fact Ioran regarded with a certain amount of discomfort now that he came to know the man.

"I was about to get some breakfast. You can come along and we talk on the way," he grudgingly agreed.

It did not take him long to regret his decision. Varel suddenly held a stack of papers Ioran did not know where it came from and began rattling down the day's schedule. He tried to be attentive while the man briefed him on various issues he felt Ioran needed to know or that required his attention. By the time they reached the first floor, Ioran knew that one: two merchants from Denerim escaped the attack and intended to set up shop at the Keep for the time being; two: Weisshaupt's delegate wanted to see him to discuss financial matters in the afternoon and that three: a formal reception was planned with the Banns of the Arling the following evening.

The list went on and on, of course, but at some point, Ioran just stopped listening. None of this stuff was important right now. It only served to increase his anger about the seneschal's obvious mistrust in him since the man took the reprimand he had been given quite literally.

"Oh, and there is a thief in the barrack cells we caught a few days ago when he tried to plunder the private chambers of the former Arl," Varel just said and Ioran snapped back to attention. All this nonsense about merchants and Banns and delegates almost made him overhear that bit of information.

"A thief?"

"Indeed. When we interrogated him he demanded to speak to the Commander of the Grey. Actually, he was quite persistent about it."

"Do we know who he is?" he inquired, his interest sparked.

"He did not want to give us his name, said he would only talk to you. It took four wardens to take him down. Quite an impressive feat."

Ioran had to agree with the seneschal. This guy had to have exceptional skills if he had been able to outmaneuver four wardens.

He found himself on the way out, every thought of breakfast forgotten, before Varel was able to torture him with more useless information, curious about the thief.

"I will take care of that immediately. When I'm done I want to see guardsman Arik, the one who had been on the roof with us last night. I need to go over a few things with him. Oh, and the same goes for the healer, Anders. Also, inform this delegate from Weisshaupt that I will meet with her as soon as possible but there are more important things that need my attention right now. I can't promise anything."

"But…"

"I appreciate your help, seneschal, and I do know that these things are important but not just yet," Ioran interrupted, a little impatient but not quite caring about it. "If the Keep falls about our ears there will be not much else we need to discuss afterwards. I need to take care of the basics before I can immerse myself in logistics or diplomacy or anything else for that matter."

Varel politely inclined his head. He seemed to be of a different mind but did not contradict which was a blessing as far as Ioran was concerned.

"Of course, Commander," he answered instead.

Satisfied that there would be no argument about his decision, he turned from the seneschal to make his way to the dungeons. For some reason he got the impression that this was going to be a long day.


	12. A Noble Scoundrel

**A Noble Scoundrel**

By now, the sun had completely risen to its full glory and the air was dry and cold. After the heavy rain and the horrors it washed up the previous night it somehow felt like a fresh start. The promise of snow clung to the air and Ioran took a deep breath, deliberately ignoring the foul stench of the pyres Garavel had set up to burn the dead.

The stench of blood and smoke was still present almost everywhere and it would take a while to get rid of it. Especially the Keep itself would need a thorough cleaning as soon as possible. It was depressing and not very helpful with morale when you were reminded of the attack every turn you took. Ioran made a mental note to instruct the servants to open every window and door and clean up the most horrid stains. The sooner they reached a state at least resembling normalcy the better.

He nodded at the guards in front of the prison when they saluted him and waited until they had unlocked the door. To his surprise, another guard greeted him on the inside. They were obviously not taking any risk with this mysterious thief.

"Commander!"

The man leaped to his feet with an expression on his face that was partly guilty, partly relieved. Ioran had to suppress an amused grin. It seemed watching prisoners was as dull and unpopular a duty here as it was in Jader.

"Guardsman," he greeted, not commenting on the soldier's inattentiveness – he did prison duty enough himself to not be offended by it – and motioned him to open the heavy wooden portal that would lead them to the actual prison.

The room turned out to be smaller than he expected and it was in quite the same desolate state as the rest of the Keep. Water dripped from the walls and the smell of mildew hung heavily in the air. Ioran tried to keep his disgust from showing on his face and looked at the prisoner instead; a man in his late twenties with haggard features, long dark hair and clad in a hunter's outfit that once must have been of exceptional quality but now looked worn and shabby. He casually leaned against the back wall, utterly relaxed as it seemed.

"I was told you wanted to see me," he addressed the prisoner. "I'm Ioran."

The man's head slightly tilted to one side and there was so much hate in his gray eyes that Ioran almost took a step back.

"So, you are one of the fabled Grey Wardens. Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall with lightning coming from your eyes? At least that's what they say about the heroes of the Blight."

The sarcasm in his voice was more than just a little caustic. Ioran chose to ignore it. He would not be baited.

"I was told you broke into the Vigil a few nights ago. Gave my soldiers a run for their money. What were you hoping to find? Coin? Weapons? A few nice jewels to trade on the black market?"

A grin flashed on the prisoner's face and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The look he gave Ioran was partly amused, partly derisive.

"What do you care what I wanted to find? You will execute me anyway, won't you?"

Ioran tilted his head and crossed his arms as well, mimicking the thief's posture. If he had been curious before he was outright intrigued now. The man looked as if he could pull his own weight and the way he spoke hinted at a good education and noble upbringing. Someone like him surely would not be desperate enough to break into a fortress as heavily guarded as Vigil's Keep just to plunder some riches.

"I don't execute nameless prisoners. 'Here lies a human in his twenties' doesn't read so well on a tombstone. Would be a hell of a lot of work for the unfortunate mason, too. Way too much effort for a scoundrel, don't you think?"

The prisoner stiffened. The grin faded from his features as quickly as it came and he proudly thrust out his chin; a very noble gesture indeed.

_As I thought. Not just a scoundrel, then, are we?_

"I am Nathaniel Howe, son of Arl Rendon Howe and this is my family's property."

_Gotcha. Now, was that so hard?_

"So you've come to claim your legacy? Is that it? I'm not quite sure if a break-in is the right way to achieve that."

The Howe moved so fast that Ioran was only barely able to duck the hand that suddenly shot through the bars.

"I came to kill you! You and the rest of your barbaric order! It was one of you who murdered my father!"

The young guard who had been with them the whole time instantly had his sword at the ready and moved in on the prisoner but Ioran held him back with a hand on his arm. He did not need any more tension in the room than there already was.

"Guardsman, would you please go and get seneschal Varel. I will have to talk to him to decide what to do with our formidable prisoner."

"But, ser…."

"It's alright, lad. I will see to it that I stay out of reach."

With a troubled look at Howe, the soldier hesitantly sheathed his weapon again. It was clear that he did not feel too comfortable with the order but Ioran already noticed that the guard of the Keep was well trained and so it did not surprise him when the younster finally nodded and turned for the door.

"As you wish, Commander."

Ioran waited until the door closed behind him before he turned back to Howe for a closer inspection. The other man's face had gone back to a carefully guarded blank but his hands were closed around the iron bars of his cell so hard the knuckles shone white.

Ioran did not buy the story of the vengeful son. He seemed to be too smart to go and try such a stunt. Maybe the notion had been there when he heard of his father's death – the hate in the man's eyes was certainly proof for that – but he had to know that going against a full battalion of wardens was nothing short of stupid – or suicidal. So what else was it a proud son of the noble Howe family could want?

"Your father was a traitor. From what I heard he got what he deserved and you know that trying to exact revenge in his name will neither bring him back nor restore your family name. I also don't take you for someone who has a death wish even though you almost convinced me in that department. So I do wonder what you really wanted here."

There was a flicker of surprise and insecurity on Howe's features, brief but intense. He was obviously not used to people questioning him. However, it seemed he was not ready to confess the truth yet.

"You should not stick your nose into things that are none of your business, warden," he snapped and turned away, facing the wall of the cell. For him the conversation was over. Not for Ioran, though.

"I would stick my nose into the Maker's fucking business if He had injured and almost killed four of my men! Oh wait! _My _men! I guess that very well makes it my business, doesn't it? I have a right to know what you've been up to when you decided to invade warden territory. Your statement might even bias my judgment on whether I'll execute you or not."

For a long time there was silence. Since he could not see Howe's face, Ioran had no idea if he just stubbornly denied any further conversation or if he was pondering his options. He just hoped for the man it was the latter.

"I _wanted_ to kill you," he hesitantly admitted. "It was the next best thing since my father's murderer is already dead. But you said it yourself; it won't bring him back or help me get back my good name so I decided that I wanted to save at least some of our family heirlooms. It's all I have left thanks to your so called Hero of Ferelden and your blighted order."

It was a lie. More convincing than anything Ioran had heard before but a lie nonetheless. There was certainly no shame in wanting to possess something that reminded you of your family but just as certainly it was nothing to risk your life for.

Ioran decided to let it go for now. He had hoped to convince the Howe to tell him something by baiting him with the prospect of sparing his life but the man did not know that it had been a bluff. He had already decided what to do with the noble thief. The thought had been on his mind since Varel reported to him about Howe but only when Ioran saw him the thought had become certainty.

He wanted him in the wardens.

Even though his hateful attitude could turn out a problem, his skill and prowess were nothing short of impressive. He would probably have to sleep with one eye open for some time but Ioran hoped that he could gain Howe's trust and loyalty. It was surely worth a try.

"Did you know what your father was up to?"

At that, the man turned to him again.

"No. And how could I? I've been squiring in the Free Marshes for eight years. Whatever my father did, however, shouldn't harm my whole family. The Howes are an old and respected house. It should not be judged by the mistake of a single man."

Before Ioran could answer to that someone in his back cleared his throat. Varel stood in the doorway, closely followed by the guard he sent after him. His face was unreadable. Ioran began to get the impression that the seneschal only knew two expressions; blank and indignant and both made him feel like an idiot most of the time.

"I take it you have decided the intruder's fate, Commander?"

Ioran took his time to answer, pursing his lips and looking the Howe up and down once more before he nodded.

"I did indeed. I want to put him through the Joining."

For a moment there, the blankness slipped the seneschal's face and he turned pale as a sheet. Ioran had to suppress a sardonic grin at the sight.

_Varel must think I've completely lost my mind._

"He will… what?"

"You've heard me right, seneschal. I want to make him a warden."

Ignoring Varel's oncoming protests, Ioran took the keys off the hanger by the door and unlocked the cell, all the while holding Howe's gaze.

The man's eyes had narrowed to suspicious slits but other than that he did not show any reaction to Ioran's unexpected announcement. He also made no attempt to leave his prison, instead only calmly returned his stare.

"Why? I've almost killed four of your men," Howe asked after a long moment of silence.

The grin Ioran had been holding back finally broke free.

"Ironically, that is exactly the reason why. You've accomplished an impressive deed. I need men like you in the wardens."

The Howe's head tilted slightly to the side. The hint of an amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but there was still no denying the hate blazing in his eyes just as hot as before.

"I'd rather die than collaborate with the bastards that killed my father," he stated matter-of-factly and very calm.

Ioran had expected that answer. Since they had arrived in Ferelden, he had heard quite a few stories about the traitor Rendon Howe and if Nathaniel was even half his father's son then he would neither be intimidated nor baited easily. He could just hope that the man was amenable to reason and that he was a more honorable guy than his father had been.

"Is your hate really worth the well-being of your family? I offer you a fair chance to redeem the name of the Howes by joining the order. If that means as much to you as you claim it does you will grab that chance. If not… well, then maybe you're indeed just the scoundrel I thought you were."

Howe didn't move but his eyes flashed with anger and his hands twitched as if he would love nothing better than to strangle his counterpart. As quickly as the notion flared, though, as quickly he got it back under control. The calm, indifferent demeanor took the upper hand again and he asked:

"I came here to kill you, warden. What makes you think I have abandoned that plan?"

Ioran decided to go with the truth on that question. Contrary to his company's belief, he was not a complete fool. He knew very well that Nathaniel could have killed him a dozen times over since he entered the cell before any of them could do more than blink an eye. The fact that he didn't had to mean something.

"I'm still standing, ain't I? I know that you are not exactly fond of the wardens and I certainly understand why that is but I'd like you to think about my offer anyway."

"And if I don't?"

_Damn, that guy _is_ difficult._

"If you don't you'll be free to go. No repercussions, just the fair warning that, should you ever come back here, I _will _have your head."

He was taking a risk with that answer. A big risk. If he misjudged the Howe even the slightest bit he practically signed his own death sentence but for some reason or another, Ioran felt it in his guts that Nathaniel would accept his suggestion. He himself would do just that and he couldn't help but think that the two of them were not that different.

For a moment longer, Ioran held the man's eyes, then turned around and left the cell to give him time to think. He had thrown the nobleman quite a bite to chew on and – no matter what his decision might be – it would presumably take a while until he got an answer.

"So...," Varel made himself known as soon as they had left the prison tract. "A Howe, is he? Do you really think this decision is wise? He obviously was not overly enthusiastic about your offer and… well… we all know what kind of a man his father was. A chip off the old block as they say. It also seems risky to let him go. What if he really tries to get back at you?"

Ioran sighed and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was not even lunchtime and he already felt a headache beginning to thrum behind his eyes. He knew there was no way around this discussion, though. Better getting it off his chest now before it came back biting him in the ass later on.

"I do understand your concern, seneschal, but he seems to be an honorable fellow. I refuse to judge him because of his father's crimes and I am content that he will accept my offer. See to it that he is relocated to the Keep and that there are two men watching him. Until I have his answer I will take no risk, anyway."

Varel still looked as if he just bit into something very sour but he just nodded and changed the topic.

"You asked me to find Ser Arik for you. He is waiting in your study but I have yet to speak to the mage so if you don't have any further orders for the moment..?"

Ioran shook his head, glad to get rid of the man.

"No, that's all for now."

With a stiff bow, the seneschal turned back to the Great Hall while Ioran took the opposite way.

His thoughts already circled around the things he needed to discuss with Arik when he heard his sister calling his name. He almost cringed with the sound of her voice. She was furious and he had the distinct feeling that he knew why. Ioran already anticipated that she would not be too happy when she came to know that he had assigned her with the position of the housekeeper. He asked Adele a few days ago to break the news to Aislyn gently when they had arrived at their destination. Most of the time, his sister was more reasonable when it was someone else but him trying to talk some sense into her. Ioran really hoped that she would take the news better if Adele explained the reasons for his decision to her.

Aislyn undoubtedly had inherited their father's talent for logistics and administrative work but she never cared to make something of it, claiming that she intended to become a soldier and therefore was not interested in such dull duties.

He stopped counting the times she begged him to put her through the Joining or at least let her sign up with the guard. She was a good fighter, alright – a fault that, according to Henry, solely her mother was to blame for – but she also was too stubborn, too naïve and too hot-headed to be of use. Knowing Aislyn, she would probably cause more trouble than anything. What was more, his sister was no team player. Taking orders and being forced to rely on others was something Aislyn did not respond to all too well. And even if all those things did not stand in the way, there was still the promise Ioran had given their father. Henry wanted his daughter to have a good and peaceful life and when it came down to it, that was exactly what he wanted as well. She _deserved_ a better life than that of a warrior although her opinion on that topic was a totally different one.

Ioran assumed that where her new position was concerned, he simply had to hope the best and expect the worst. Given a little time, Aislyn would learn that his mind was not to be changed on the matter and inevitably arrange with the circumstances. He would be in for a lot of complaining and a number of arguments but he would gladly accept that inconvenience as long as he knew she was safe.

"You son of a blightwolf!"

_Speaking of inconveniences..._

Ioran stifled a moan and tried to put on the most innocent expression possible before he turned around to face his angry sister.

"Aislyn! Good to see you, _gamine_. I take it you had a quiet night?"

She was in his face before he had finished the sentence, her index finger poking at his chest with a force that made him feel glad he wore his armor.

"Don't _gamine_ me! Adele just told me about your gorgeous plans and I will _not_ play your bloody scullery-maid! You promised me you'll put me on the guard!"

He knew perfectly well he never promised anything even close to that. Aislyn tried to make him feel guilty and he knew from experience that she was quite good at that but it would not work this time. Not when it was about this special topic.

"My decision is not negotiable, Aislyn, you can as well spare yourself the trouble. Everyone around here has to do their duty if they like it or not and so will you."

"This is ridiculous! I am a warrior, not a housewife! You always agreed with me that I am no use in a kitchen at all!"

A memory flashed before his inner eye; a memory of his seventeen years old sister almost burning down the kitchen by trying to bake a cake for his birthday. Ioran still remembered the chaos she had caused and the sight of her standing in the middle of it, all covered in flour and grime and dripping wet from her efforts to extinguish the flames. It took weeks to get the smell of burned dough out of the house. After that, Aislyn refused to try cooking or baking ever again.

He had a hard time to suppress the grin that threatened to form on his lips. No, his sister really was no use in a kitchen but that was not the point.

"Nobody expects you to spend your days in the kitchens. You are more of an administrator. Distributing the staff, arranging banquets, tending to guests, keeping an eye on the craftsmen and so on. You're responsible for the well-being of the Keep's inhabitants if you will. It is a responsible and important position, Aislyn."

She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

"No matter how many pretty words you find to describe it, a housewife remains a housewife. Forget it, Ioran, I will not do it."

Why did she always have to be so stubborn? Ioran clenched his jaw to keep his tongue in check. As much as he wanted to tell his sister in no uncertain terms what he thought of her rebellious attitude as much he knew it would be pointless and only result in the usual yelling and screaming and that was the last thing he needed right now. Instead he took a few deep breaths to calm his anger.

"If you did not notice, we have just barely survived a massive Darkspawn attack and I neither have the time nor the patience to argue everyone's tasks with them. We need to work together if we intend to rebuilt the Vigil and make it a safe place again and you _will_ play your part like everyone else, end of discussion."

He turned away from her to stress his point but Aislyn was quick to keep him from leaving by stepping in his way and placing a hand on his arm. Her eyes suddenly were wide and pleading and the anger had vanished from her face.

"Please, brother, don't do that to me. Put me on the guard where I belong. I promise I'll never ask you to make me a warden ever again just please, please _don't _punish me like that!"

It was surprising how easily she could switch from rabid mabari to damsel in distress. Did all younger siblings possess the ability to make pleading an art form, Ioran briefly wondered, because Aislyn certainly had it down, knowing that it was even harder for him to resist her puppy-dog eyes than it was with the guilt-routine.

"It is not meant as a punishment, _gamine,_" he assured in as calm and friendly a voice as he could but not willing to budge. "On the contrary, if you had thought about it before jumping at my throat you surely would have understood that your position is a vital one and a sign of my trust in you."

Her eyes became hard again, the pleading pout on her lips was replaced by a thin line.

"Well then, thank you, _dear _brother, for your _overwhelming _confidence in my abilities. I will make sure to give you a good taste of them when I'm serving dinner to you and your soldiers!"

Before Ioran could utter another word, Aislyn turned on her heels and left him standing in the courtyard like an idiot. He wanted to go after her but he restrained himself. Being the reasonable one was never easy but as worked up and angry as she was this argument was pointless. Let her stew in her own grease. She would calm down sooner or later.

_Until the next approach. Or until I die from food poisoning._

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. The dull pounding behind his eyes slowly turned into a stabbing pain. Hopefully, he thought on his way back inside, his talk with Arik would show some more satisfying results.


	13. The Offer

**The Offer**

The study looked like a mausoleum: dark tapestries with battle scenes and vicious looking weapons, morose people in old paintings – from the look of it the complete ancestral line of the former lord – and bizarre hunting trophies, among them even the head of a genlock.

It was an intimidating sight and made Arik wish the seneschal asked him to wait for the Commander somewhere else; preferably somewhere, where he could be of use in the meantime. There was not one living soul in the fortress who did not feverishly try to whip the desolate place back into shape and he was not one to contently sit by and watch others do the work.

Arik was relieved when the heavy oak door finally opened after what seemed like hours and the Commander poked his head in. He was even more relieved when Ioran gestured at him to follow him out of the study, explaining that he was about to inspect the Keep and they could as well talk on the way.

"The seneschal mentioned that you were talking to the prisoner?" Arik asked. He knew it was none of his business but he was curious as of how that conversation turned out. The thief had been quite a handful and it had been more or less a happy coincidence that the wardens finally got a hold of him.

"I did, yes. Have you been there when he got captured?"

Arik laughed as he remembered that night. He never had seen anyone that fast; and not just fast but as quiet and invisible as a ghost.

"Oh Maker, yes I've been there. It took the wardens half the night. The bastard is extremely skilled. He knew what he was doing and I got the impression he knows his way around the Vigil."

The Commander shot him a knowing look.

"Oh, you'd think he would, being the son of the former Arl, would you? The Vigil is his home. Well… it _was_ his home until his father decided to become a traitor."

Arik whistled under his breath. Samuel had told him a few stories about the Arl's eldest. He never personally met the man but what he had heard so far was interesting. Nathaniel was said to be a brilliant archer who had yet to find his match. According to the groundkeeper, he was the smartest of the three Howe children but also the most cagey. He was a brooding fellow who rarely smiled and kept to himself most of the time.

Arik would have liked to hear more about him but Ioran obviously was of a different mind because he said:

"As fascinating as that might be, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to ask you something, Arik."

They came to a halt in a hallway near the kitchens where the walls were blackened and partly collapsed and Ioran took a moment to talk to the salvage crew at work there.

"What is it you wanted to ask me, ser?" Arik inquired when he came back.

"You know that the wardens were seriously decimated during the fight with the Darkspawn last night," Ioran began and Arik nodded. "As far as we know, only three of the Orlesian contingent are still alive and they probably will not survive the night. That means, I am hard pressed to find new recruits and you are the sort of man I am looking for. My question is, Arik, if you would be willing to undergo the Joining and become one of us. Being a warden can be hard at times and I would understand if you don't see your life's purpose in killing Darkspawn and other filth. I also don't intend to force the right of conscription on you but I would appreciate it if you considered my offer."

It was a surprising proposition; surprising and tempting, despite the warning of a hard life. Arik had always lived a soldier's life and he had no family to speak of. The last of his relatives – a distant cousin in South Reach – had died a few years back. There was nobody waiting for him and no one he needed to be considerate of.

The thought of becoming a Grey Warden had occurred to him before. He had had the chance to come to know some of them at Ostagar and they seemed to him like a capable and loyal bunch. His intentions became null and void, though, when they had all been killed in the battle and there was no order left to join. Arik did not think that he'd get another chance to become a part of the Grey, yet here it was.

"Have you spoken to Captain Garavel about your plan?"

As much as he wanted to jump at the opportunity, Arik couldn't bring himself to do so without knowing how his captain felt about this. More likely than not, Garavel would not be all too pleased to hear that the Commander wanted to recruit someone from his guard.

"I wanted to hear your opinion first," Ioran answered with a certain edge to his tone. "If you decline I will have no reason to roil the Captain. Not that he has a say in the decision, anyway."

The last part sounded defensive and Arik realized his mistake. To Ioran, it must seem as if he was questioning his authority – just like Varel had done lat night. He felt as if he owed the other man an apology as well as an explanation. It had not been Arik's intention to fuel the doubts the seneschal certainly evoked.

"Forgive me, Commander, I did not mean to offend you. It is just that I have respect for Garavel. He helped me a great deal when I first came to the Keep and I'm a guardsman after all. He's my superior and discussing this without his knowledge simply doesn't feel right."

After a moment of gloomy silence, a thin-lipped smile curved the corners of Ioran's mouth and he patted Arik on the back.

"It's alright, Arik. I guess I am a little over-sensitive right now. This whole Commander-thing is still new to me and I just want to make it right. Thanks for being honest with me, though. Which is by the way one of the reasons I'd like to have you by my side. I need someone loyal to be my right hand, someone who's willing to even knock me down a notch or two if need be. Do you think you can do that, guardsman?"

There was a challenge in those words, just like the other night when he talked to Garavel. Ioran seemed to have a knack for taking people by their pride and up until now it had worked like a charm. Arik found that he, too, was not immune to the sidekick. Fereldans naturally were a proud people. An attack on their honor seldom went unanswered.

"I think I can manage that, ser. Being allowed to pick on the Commander without retribution is certainly tempting."

The tension between them vanished into thin air when Ioran laughed; loud and strong and wholeheartedly. It sounded like the bark of a really big dog. His eyes sparkled with amusement and his whole face lit up in a way that made him look five years younger.

Arik couldn't hide his own smile. He had just learned something about his new executive. The Commander obviously was someone who appreciated a good joke and loved to laugh, a characteristic that went well with Arik's own mindset. He always tended to surround himself with people who had a sense of humor.

"So…", Ioran inquired, still smiling, "Can I take that for a yes then?"

Arik took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment longer.

Becoming a warden… Was that what he wanted? Was that something he could imagine doing for the rest of his life?

"Yes, ser. I am honored by your request and gladly accept it."

As soon as the words were out, Arik knew for certain it was the right decision. It felt good. It felt as if he had found something he did not even know he was looking for.

Life at the Keep was not bad most of the time but he was a soldier at heart. The fortress usually was a calm and uneventful place and he thought after the events at Ostagar he would enjoy the peace and quiet there. He had been wrong, though. For some time now there had been a nagging restlessness in his bones. More than once he had itched for his sword and shield and the anxiety of battle.

His thoughts wandered back to the previous day when he had fought the ogre in the courtyard alongside Ioran and Mhairi. It brought back a lot of horrible memories but it had also been the first time in months that he felt alive again.

_You can take the soldier out of the fight but you can never take the fight out of the soldier. _

His instructor in Denerim used to say that a lot but Arik never quite understood those words up until recently.

"Good to hear that, soldier," Ioran said with another pat to his back. "Now that we've got that clear, there is something I'd like you to take care of. I want you to find Captain Garavel and ask him for the vials I asked him to gather. Take them to the seneschal and tell him to prepare the Joining. When you're done report back to me."

"The Joining, ser?"

He had heard that term before. There was many a myth entwined with that word. Arik once overheard a young man, a recruit perhaps, discussing it with Commander Duncan at Ostagar a few nights prior to the fateful battle but the man had been quite secretive about it, not really giving any clear information about what that Joining was or what it did. From what he could hear Arik reasoned that it had to be a ritual of sorts, maybe an initiation ceremony.

At least nothing as fancy as the common folk usually made of it. Some townspeople swore that the Joining was a forbidden, dark ritual involving blood magic of the most horrific kind. They said that the wardens killed their recruits and drank their blood in order to gain exceptional strength and unbelievable, magical powers. Others would say that they went into the Deep Roads offering some of their own as a sacrifice to some unknown gods in exchange for the ability to stop a Blight if it occurred. All of that was nonsense, of course, and that meant no one really seemed to know anything about the mysterious Joining.

"Yes," Ioran confirmed, his expression suddenly guarded. "Every recruit has to undergo the Joining in order to become a warden. I wish I could tell you more, I really do but right now, that is almost all of what I am allowed to explain."

Arik frowned partly suspicious, partly curious. He hoped the Commander would be more generous with his explanations. There was a lot of secrecy going on and he was not quite sure if he liked that.

"Almost?" he prodded, wanting to know every last bit of information the other man was willing to feed him. Ioran sighed and it sounded… what? Resigned? Sad? Thoughtful?

"The vials I asked you to retrieve contain Darkspawn blood. It is… needed for the ritual. Usually, new recruits are sent out into the Deep Roads or, during a Blight, into the field to kill Darkspawn and collect their blood as kind of a trial to prove themselves worthy. In our current situation I don't deem that particular ordeal necessary. There is not one living soul in this fortress who hasn't fought their share of Darkspawn last night."

_Does that mean there really is blood magic involved? Do those stories contain more truth than I gave them credit for?_

The thought did not sit too well with Arik. Blood magic was evil. Blood magic was dangerous. Every child was taught that from an early age on and he firmly believed that it was taught for a reason. The Commander seemed to guess which path his thoughts had taken because he asked:

"Do you want to rethink your decision?"

"Well, it would help if you were willing to elaborate on the subject a little more," Arik evaded but the Commander shook his head, regretful but determined.

"I'm afraid I can't, Arik. I know you have questions. Probably a lot of them and I know I'm asking a lot by expecting you to simply accept the few facts that I can actually give but this is all I can tell you. Believe me when I say I've already given away more than I should."

Arik did believe him. There was no deception in Ioran's eyes and he honestly seemed to regret that the wardens' codex swore him to secrecy. It did not make his predicament any easier, though.

"That is one mighty leap of faith you're expecting," he quietly admitted. "I understand now why the wardens resort to conscription most of the time. There can't be many who take this risk willingly."

"I did," his company offered. It did not really surprise Arik to hear that. Ioran seemed to be a fellow crazy enough to go for such a challenge.

"And did you regret it?"

He knew he was probably going out on a limb with that question for it was quite a personal one but Arik felt he needed to hear the answer to it.

"Sometimes. It wouldn't be fair to claim otherwise but if you asked me if I would do it again then my answer would be yes. I believe in what the wardens do and what they stand for."

Conviction. Arik had hoped to hear that in Ioran's answer. It wouldn't have been there if the risks outweighed the good things and it was all he needed to confirm his decision.

"Alright, I guess I'm off to retrieve those vials, then. Let's see what that ominous Joining of yours has in store for me."

The wariness that had been in the Commander's eyes ever since they started this discussion softened a little and a smile eased the lines of worry on his face again. It was not the cheerful smile from earlier on, though. This one was calm and knowing and a little sad as if he wanted to say _oh boy, you have no idea._

A feeling of foreboding tried to worm its way into Arik's guts again but he was quick to discard it. He made his decision and there was no way he would step down from it, not anymore.

"Thank you, Arik. I'm glad you didn't change your mind."

Arik nodded and saluted Ioran before he turned to tend to his task.

On the way out, he felt an excited grin taking shape on his features. No matter what it was he allowed himself to get involved with here, of one thing he was very sure: if he overcame the obstacles – whatever they might be – that were obviously a part of the Joining, this would be the adventure of a lifetime.

His instructor's voice again sounded in his ear: _You can take the soldier out of the fight but you can never take the fight out of the soldier._

Oh yes, he did understand now indeed.


	14. Vengeful Plans

**Vengeful Plans**

He had been shocked about the desolate condition of the fortress when he sneaked in a few nights ago.

Nathaniel knew that the image he had held of his former home was glossed over by time and memory but he would have never expected to see so much ruin and neglect upon his arrival. He had been glad that it was dark outside and that the shadows mercifully hid the full extent of the damage done. What he had seen so far had already been enough to make his heart ache with grief. For hours he had been creeping through the halls without anyone noticing, using secret passages and forgotten trapdoors and with every hour, his anger grew.

They had removed most of his family's personal possessions. Furniture that served but a decorative purpose had been smashed to be used as firewood and what had not been destroyed he found in a damp and rotten storage room somewhere in the bowels of the Keep. His sister's beloved garden was withered and stamped by numerous boots and Nathaniel had even spotted clotheslines all over the place. The whole fortress had been turned upside down.

Well, not the whole fortress. His father's study had remained untouched. It was an intimidating room, dark and regal and with an air of superiority about it; the perfect place for the blighted Commander of the Grey to receive visitors in – which was probably the reason why those bastards left it as it was.

It also was the only room in the Vigil Nathaniel had always felt uncomfortable entering; the only room he would have not minded to see changed. Being ordered into the Arl's study always meant trouble and he had been in trouble a lot in his youth. His father had not been the forgiving sort; not with his peasants and not with his children. Rendon Howe never praised and seldom smiled. When he was content with someone it showed in the absence of punishment and when he was not retribution came swift and hard. Nathaniel did not care to count the many times his father sat behind the desk in that very room and stared at his eldest with that disappointed look in his eyes before he punished him for his many insufficiencies.

Those were the thoughts that ran through Nathaniel's head when his guards led him out of the dungeon and into a field of destruction that was even worse than what he remembered. At first, he thought his eyes were tricking him due to the sudden brightness all around. He had not seen the sunlight for at least three days and his sight only slowly adjusted to the changed conditions. The clearer his vision got, though, the more details he made out and those details were anything but comforting.

There had been a fight, that much was obvious. Nathaniel recalled to have heard noises of battle the previous night and that there had been a tremor in the earth as if something forcefully tried to dig to the surface from deep down. It made the chains on the walls clatter and dust trickle from the beams. Nobody cared to tell him what was going on, of course. He still did not know what happened but considering the caldera in the courtyard, Nathaniel suspected that it had been a Darkspawn attack. A massive one, not just the few stragglers they were used to in this part of Ferelden.

The hate that accompanied his every step since he learned of his father's death rose to new heights. It was all the Grey Wardens' fault. If only they did not stick their noses into things that were none of their concern, this would never have happened. Vigil's Keep would still belong to his family and his father would have taken care of the Darkspawn, Nathaniel had no doubt about that. Rendon might not have been an overly friendly man but he ruled the Arling with wit, efficiency and sometimes, if necessary, cruel strength. He had been a true and capable leader, a man of principle. An attack like this never went without losses but his father would have kept them to a minimum, both for the Keep and the inhabitants.

As they led him into the fortress, Nathaniel was relieved to be rid of the horrible sight. Unfortunately, the feeling did not last very long. The corridors on the lower levels were spattered with blood and blackened from smoke and ashes. Debris was to be found everywhere and there was a smell of decay and sickness in the air that left a stale and sour taste on his tongue.

_What in the Maker's name happened here?_

He pondered to ask his guards but then decided against it, not quite sure if he really wanted to know. Instead and despite the stench, Nathaniel forced himself to breathe deep and slow to get a hold on his swirling emotions again. A flaring temper got him into his current predicament and it would only stir more trouble if he did not keep it under control. He would need a clear head to decide his next move.

When he had calmed a little, he suddenly became aware of the many eyes staring at him. He read recognition in some gazes, shock and disbelief in others. Most of the servants had already been here when he left for the Free Marches and knew his face. He also heard whispers when they passed them by – whispers about his family's tragic fall from grace, no doubt.

He still did not believe the stories of his father's betrayal to be true. On his nightly excursion through the Vigil he had found letters from Rendon that clearly stated the Couslands had been in league with Empress Celine. They intended to restore Orlesian sovereignty over Ferelden and his father had just done the right thing and relieved the corrupt Teyrn of his duty. His father should have been named a hero, not that insufferable, arrogant Cousland boy, Rendon Howe's killer.

Nathaniel remembered Jaden to be a spoiled and ill-tempered boy from their visits to Highever. The Howes had been frequent guests there in the past due to the friendship of the Arl and the Teyrn. Jaden had been six years younger than him and always up to a prank. Most of the time he found a willing co-conspirator in Nathaniel's younger brother Thomas and their pranks almost always were on Nathaniel's account. It would not have been all that bad if his father remained unaware of these incidents. Nothing would have come of it other than the two boys having some fun. But Rendon _was_ aware and in his opinion, it once more showed Nathaniel's incapability to impose punishment for improper actions.

_So soft. So compassionate. So much like your sister. _

Those words still rang in his ears every time he thought of his father. It had been the last thing he had heard before he was sent to squire for one of the Arl's friends in Kirkwall, not long after their last visit to Highever. Having been dumped like that still hurt. All Nathaniel ever wanted was to make the Arl proud. His father had always been his idol despite his strict and seemingly unloving demeanor. That he would never get the chance again left a bitter taste in his mouth.

They had reached the part of the Keep where the guest quarters were situated and one of his watchdogs motioned Nathaniel into a small room that had once been a storage for sheets and pillows and the like. Now it contained a narrow bed, a simple chair and a closet that barely lived up to the name. There was no window and the only light was provided by a sorry oil lamp the guards placed on the chair.

One of them – the one who had drawn his sword on him when he had attacked the Commander – shot him a wary glance. Nathaniel couldn't help but take a step towards him and flash a sardonic grin. It was quite amusing to see the young man flinch and reaching for the handle of his weapon.

_Not so brave when there are no bars between us, are we, kid?_

Nathaniel had always been an attentive observer. Judging people's moods and intentions – the tilt of a head, the gesture of a hand – had been a vital part in his training and so the young guard's inexperience had been obvious to Nathaniel from the moment he was ordered to escort him to his new quarters. He had seen the fine sheen of sweat on the boy's forehead and how his eyes had darted about the place as if he expected an attack at any moment. Nathaniel had to admit it was not quite fair to mock the poor fellow but he just couldn't resist the opportunity. It would probably be the only fun he would get in a while.

It was then that the older of the two guards stepped in and laid a comforting hand on the youngster's shoulder, pulling him back out the door.

"Don't let him bait you, Simon. Seneschal was clear with his orders. Come on."

The boy Simon cast him a last insecure look before the door was closed and locked from the other side. Nathaniel heard them taking post in front of his new prison and sat down on the narrow cot, propping his feet up and closing his eyes with a sigh.

So this Ioran fellow did not take chances with him after all, he thought with the slightest bit of wry humor. Maybe the man was not as crazy as he thought and he had thought him utterly insane when he heard his offer.

_I need men like you in the wardens._

There had been no doubt in the Commander's voice, not even a hint. What made the man so sure that he could trust him, Nathaniel wondered. He had been caught as a thief, admitted that he wanted to kill him and openly threatened his life. Any sane person would have ordered his death.

Then again, his reasons for offering him a place in the wardens seemed comprehensible to a point. The order had once been exiled from Ferelden and even after King Maric had lifted the edict, their presence in the country remained insignificant. It was just logical that the Commander would be in desperate need to increase the wardens' numbers again, especially so shortly after a Blight. He would try to recruit people from every source available even if that source was their own prison.

However, there was still something Nathaniel did not understand: Why not conscript him? Why give him a choice?

The Commander had to know he was playing with his life when Nathaniel declined the offer and he was quite tempted to do just that. He was not willing to throw his lot in with his father's murderers.

Time and again he had imagined to slice their throats, one after the other, until his thirst for revenge was sated. They would not even know what hit them until it was too late.

At least that was what he had planned when he entered the Vigil and watched the wardens from his various hiding places. To his surprise, though, Nathaniel found he couldn't do it.

He was no cold-blooded killer, not by a long shot. The desire to end their lives was undoubtedly there but there had been something else as well that stilled his hand and held him back.

Maybe his father had been right and he was too soft, too compassionate but he couldn't help thinking that those poor fellows had families, too, that they probably hadn't even been involved with his father's murder. After all, the true culprit was already dead and nothing he could do would change that fact. He would be no better than Jaden if he gave in to his desire for vengeance by killing innocents.

Was it possible that the warden knew about his doubts?

No, Nathaniel assured himself, there was no way the guy could be that perceptive. It was more likely that he was trying to buy his trust with this deal.

A derisive huff slipped him with the thought. He may not have been able to kill the bastard and his companions but that did not mean he did not hate them anymore. There was no chance in the void he would ever trust a blighted warden.

Unfortunately, there was something the Commander asked that still bugged him and made him hesitate to outright turn the deal down.

_Is your hate really worth the well-being of your family?_

The question got him right where it hurt and it was a reasonable one. More reasonable than he would have liked coming from a bastard warden. If he was honest with himself, Nathaniel had to answer no to that question. No, it was not worth it. As long as there was a chance that his siblings were still alive he had to do the right thing and forget about his vengeful plans. He did not know about their fate but he had to believe that at least Delilah made it through the hardships that had come with the Blight and ostracism.

Nathaniel had of course tried to find his brother and sister when he came back from the Free Marches but the results of his search had been vague at best. The name Howe was spelled traitor these days and nobody wanted to be connected to traitors. Whenever he had asked about Delilah Howe – always careful not to be recognized as a Howe himself – people turned from him without so much as a word if he was lucky. If he was not they would threaten him, spit in his face or throw stones his way. He had not been able to learn anything about his sister's whereabouts.

Things had been easier with Thomas for his brother was rumored to being dead. A dead Howe was a good Howe so people had not tried to hide that information from him. There was no way to prove if the rumors were true but Nathaniel was inclined to believe so. Thomas had always been a little slow, a little helpless without someone to tell him what to do. He also had been a heavy drinker ever since their mother died. For some reason, their father had indulged his faults, maybe because he had been the youngest of his children. Nathaniel could very well imagine that Thomas did not survive very long on his own. The thought made him sad. He had loved his brother and wondered ever since if he could have protected him had he been there.

Thinking about Delilah and Thomas was the only thing that made Nathaniel consider the Commander's offer in earnest.

Right now, the order was one of the most respected forces in all of Ferelden. From what Nathaniel had heard even the Chantry was indebted to them. People rarely talked about anything else than the Grey Wardens these days. He knew that connections were important and a connection to the order could open many doors. As much as he despised the thought of becoming one of them it was undeniable that he could only gain if he accepted the chance he had been given.

Becoming a warden would mean he could look for Delilah without restrictions. He would be able to find out what really happened to his brother and he might also get a chance to clear not only his family-name as a whole but his father's in particular.

Maybe he would even get a chance at revenge. Having insight into the order's workings might present him with a way to erode the wardens from the inside out. It would be a far more effective way to exact vengeance than simply killing them.

Suddenly, the thought of being a Grey Warden seemed not that horrible anymore. A smile began to form on Nathaniel's usually carefully guarded features. The Commander had no clue he had invited a wolf into his sheep flock and Nathaniel would see to it that when he found out it would already be too late. The order sure did have some skeletons in its closet and he would dig them up and use them to his advantage. There were already some ideas taking shape in his mind.

He crossed his arms behind his head and listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the door. He knew it would probably take some time but eventually they would come to get his answer and the answer was yes.


	15. Escape Plans

**Escape Plans**

There were no guards in front of his room. In fact, there had been nobody on the whole floor when he peeked out of his door shortly after he woke. It should be a relief but Anders suspected it was too good to be true. There had to be _some_ precautions to ensure he did not wander about the Keep and turn unknowing servants into toads. Or tried to escape for that matter. The Commander made it clear last night that he would have an eye on him until the circumstances of the Templars' deaths were solved to his satisfaction. So there might be no magesitters in front of the door but Anders was sure that as soon as he left his quarters _somebody_ would follow him around.

He stepped to the only window in the room and risked a look out. It gave a good view of the courtyard and the bustling activity there. It also was too high above the ground to get down unharmed if one had no wings – or wasn't a mage. And even for a mage, overcoming a distance like that was a challenge.

Anders had to think of his escape number three from the Circle Tower and involuntarily shivered with the mere memory of it. He had never been afraid of heights, bless the Maker, but leaping into freedom from those very big towers had undoubtedly been one of the most stupid ideas he'd ever had – besides that other stupid idea when he decided mud-wrestling with an amazon twice his size would be fun. It had almost cost him his life, both the escape and the mud-wrestling.

Another shiver ran down his spine, along with a feeling of lightheadedness as the memories came flooding back. When he stared at the ground he didn't see the muddy brown of the courtyard anymore but the fresh green color of grass at the foot of the Tower.

He had it all planned out. For almost a year he had researched and memorized complex spells that would get him safely down from the highest spire. For almost a year he had brooded over diversionary tactics that would cover his escape. It had easily been the most intricate plan he had ever plotted and it all sounded perfect in his head.

The problem was just that it had _not _been perfect. For starters, there had been no possibility for him to test out most of the spells. That fact alone should have been enough for him to abandon his glorious plan. But Anders had always been an optimist and quite trusting in his abilities. It never occurred to him that there could be a catch. Like running out of mana half way down, for example.

He had known that the spells were difficult, of course. What he didn't expect, though, was that the slightest disturbance would almost double the amount of mana he'd need to execute them properly. And the disturbance had shown itself in form of the harsh winds that constantly blew around the Tower. They were even more powerful so high above the ground and the effort of compensating them drained him quicker than he could say _Andraste's knicker-weasels_. So, instead of the intended smooth landing, he had crashed to the ground rather ruggedly. His carelessness had earned him some broken ribs, a bloody nose and quite a lot of bruises that made him feel like a man twice his age.

It was pure, dumb luck that prevented Anders from being caught, defenseless and wounded as he had been. The distractions he had placed all over the Tower worked according to plan, creating enough chaos among the mages and Templars to ensure that no one was missing him too soon. Despite the outcome, however, he swore to himself and the Maker that he would never try such a stunt ever again.

Anders shook his head to get rid of those disturbing memories and forced his thoughts back into the present; just in time to witness an obviously heated discussion between the Commander and a woman.

He couldn't see her face because she had her back to him but he was quite sure it was the Commander's sister. He recognized her stiff back and short hair from the other night. An indignant huff slipped him with the thought of that encounter. After the heartfelt reunion with her brother he thought her to be a nice person but it seemed his radar for people did not only fail him with Ioran but also with… what was her name? Ashley? Eileen? No, Aislyn, he remembered after a moment. For some reason he thought she'd be more like her brother, without prejudice and of the same calm composure. Maybe because she looked so innocent with those big eyes and the softly rounded face that had just lost its baby fat.

He had been wrong with his estimation, though. As soon as she caught sight of him her attitude had changed like the weather in spring. Her gaze seemed to pierce through him like a lance of ice. Anders knew that if it had not been for Ioran, the girl would have attacked him. The hostility in the air had almost been palpable. As had been the fear. The Commander's sister had looked at him in just the same way Mhairi had done on their first encounter.

_Like I'm a monster. Like something that belongs behind bars, safely locked away from the world._

People like Mhairi and Aislyn were the reason why he tried not to stay in one place for too long. It was the reason why he needed to get away from this place as well before someone led the Templars his way. Anders knew he wasted a perfectly good chance for that already. It would have been easy to disappear into the darkness shortly after the attack without anyone noticing. The confusion and hectic activity would have aided him in his feat. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do so with so many wounded and dying people around. The healer in him simply couldn't deny his help and he didn't want to live with the guilt that would come inevitably if he left those in need behind for his own selfish reasons.

With a sigh, he turned away from the window and checked his appearance in the mirror above the washing basin. His brow furrowed in disapproval when he spotted the many stains and creases on his robes. He instantly regretted that he did not take his time to inspect the damage before he fell asleep on the narrow bed, fully dressed and ignorant to anything but the softness of the pillow beneath.

With a resigned shrug, Anders quickly splashed some water over his face and smoothed a few stray strands of red-blonde hair back into his bun. Even though he felt dirty to the bone, there was nothing he could do about the poor state of his robes right now and there were more pressing matters on his mind anyway. He needed to look after the injured in the hall and while on the way, it could not hurt to inspect the Keep's security a little more thoroughly than he had the chance to do last night.

With that resolve on his mind, Anders slipped out of his room, careful to make as little noise as possible. He was not quite the stealthiest person that ever walked the earth and he knew his attempts would never fool a trained rogue but it had been enough for the Templars most of the time and with a little luck it would also be enough for the guard of the Vigil.

His caution, however, turned out to be unnecessary. Nobody followed him; not in the corridor where his room was located, not down the many stairs to the courtyard and not on his way over to the great hall. The Keep was buzzing with activity but no matter how hard he looked, no one seemed to pay particular attention to his person.

There were still some suspicious glances here and there when he passed people by but somehow they did not seem as hostile any more. Some of the glances even were benevolent, especially those he received from the ladies. It did a lot to his self-esteem to see a light blush on their cheeks when he shot them one of his toothy grins or to get a giggle out of them with a smart comment.

Anders felt the anxiety in his guts lessen a little. Maybe his situation was not as dire as he thought. Maybe the Commander was of the opinion that he posed no immediate danger – an impression Anders did his best to encourage – and refrained from assigning a bodyguard to him despite his previous threat.

By the time he arrived at the hall, his mood had lightened considerably. His escape plans were in no way forgotten but since he found a way to put them into practice, knowing that there were at least some friendly faces in the crowd made the Keep a more bearable place. Yet, when suddenly a heavy hand fell down on his shoulder, it still made him almost jump in shock and a sudden surge of fear.

"There you are. I've been looking for you, mage," the seneschal's cool voice sounded near his ear.

Anders took a deep breath and flashed Varel a grin despite his racing heart and the fact that his knees had turned into jelly.

"Where else would I be? Almost all the pretty ladies are here, dying to help me with my oh so difficult task to cure these unfortunate souls from their ailments."

There was not so much as a twitch on the other man's features but the gaze he received made Anders feel as if the temperature had dropped by at least five degrees.

"The Commander wants to see you," Varel continued unaffectedly. "You are asked to wait in his study."

With those words, the anxiety he had felt before was back in full swing. It would have been too good to be true if he got away without further repercussions now would it?

"And did the good Commander say why he requires my illustrious presence?" Anders asked in the same bantering manner, not willing to let the seneschal know how much that new information troubled him.

"He didn't tell and I didn't ask," came the brusque reply.

"Well, then I better don't make him wait, right?"

Waving at Varel, he turned for the door. His legs still felt wobbly and he noticed that his palms became damp and clingy. It was like the night before when he wandered the Keep with Mhairi in the front and Ioran in his back; a feeling like he was being walked to the gallows.

While Anders took his time to ascend the stairs to the Commander's office, his mind worked feverishly. He would not kill him, would he? The worst that could happen was that Ioran stuck him back in a cell until someone could get him back to the Circle, right? Let the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter deal with the unruly apostate and his hideous crimes. He knew that at the end of the journey, there would be an execution waiting for him as well but it would at least give him another chance at escape. _Then why is it that I feel as if there is a noose around my neck?_

His gloomy thoughts made his steps falter.

He could still run. So far, nobody was looking for him. If he turned the other way now he would probably get a decent head start.

When the Templars brought him down here from Amaranthine, Anders had noticed quite a number of caves along the way. The coast in this part of the country was practically riddled with them. If he was careful and did not wander in too deep, he could stay in the caves for one, maybe two days without a search party being able to find him. They would most certainly expect him to sneak back to Amaranthine so he would turn to the south from there. The way to the next port, namely Gwaren, would be long and dangerous but it was still better than staying and facing the hangman.

Slowly, without being fully aware of it yet, Anders retreated into the shadows of a small alcove. The soft quiver of his hands had become an uncontrollable tremor. His mind was screaming at him to run as fast as he could.

He leaned back against the cool stone wall of his hiding place and closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. Acting rash now would only get him caught again. After taking a few deliberately slow breaths, Anders stepped back out into the corridor but with his destination now in the opposite direction.

He tried to pick a way through the maze of hallways that would hide him from too many curious eyes. It proved to be difficult, though. The Keep was huge and he had not yet seen even half of it. All he could do was follow his instincts and the noises that filtered through to him from around the next corner, from inside a room or an open window. So concentrated he was on even the smallest sound that the sudden blare of fanfares seemed to split his skull in half and made him press against the nearest wall. It took him a long moment to gather his wits again before he dared to move to a close-by window and risk a glance outside.

The sight that presented itself to him was impressive and disturbing at the same time. Every activity in the courtyard had ceased as people stood motionless and gaping at the glorious parade that just came riding through the gates. It must be about thirty riders and a train of four or five caravans in their wake as far as Anders could tell. The riders were armored, cuirasses polished to a shine, the horses fine beasts, adorned with expensive-looking harnesses and the king's colors. The group was led by a man in golden armor on a black gelding and with a standard bearer at each side. Anders never had that much contact with nobility but even with his limited experience it was clear to him that this man had to be the fabled Warden-King Alistair Theirin himself and right behind him…

He felt white-hot panic coiling into a knot in his stomach when he saw the red swords and sun imprinted on the shining metal suits.

_Andraste's flaming britches! So the bastard _did _call for the blasted Templars!_

The feeling of betrayal that joined the overall panic was unexpectedly strong. He hoped – no, pleaded – that the Commander would be generous and let him go. Instead, all his apprehensions turned out to be the horrible truth. There they stood, in all their pompous arrogance and self-righteous supremacy, those Chantry minions who firmly believed in a system that was nothing but hypocritical.

Just when he thought things could not get any worse, Anders spotted a familiar face among the Templars and his blood went cold. Of all the bloodhounds they could have sent, why did it have to be _her_?

Well, it should not surprise him, really. She was the one who always hated him most, had the most fun in torturing him while dragging his sorry ass back to the Circle. She, Rylock, the best hunter the Templars had in their ranks and one of the cruelest, nastiest, most fanatic bitches he had ever had the displeasure to meet. She seemed to have made it her single personal life-task to make him suffer.

Last time Rylock had brought him back, Anders had heard her fervently arguing with Knight-Commander Gregoir to execute him. The words _maleficar_, _abomination_ and _blood-mage_ had played a vital role in her speech as he recalled, even though they had not been the most obscene. To his credit, the Knight-Commander had taken her arguments as what they were – the ramblings of a fanatic madwoman – and did not agree to Rylock's demand. Instead he sentenced him to a public lashing and a year of solitary confinement; a year that almost made Anders wish Rylock had run her sword right through his middle the day he had been captured. The experience had instilled a fear of confined spaces into him and nightmares of that time haunted his sleep every other night, leaving him screaming and thrashing about in his bed.

He would not allow them to get a hold of him again_. _This time, Rylock might get her wish granted and that was something he dreaded even more than another year of confinement.

Anders retreated from the window. He had already been standing there for too long and the chances of being caught got greater by the minute. Maybe the king's arrival was a lucky coincidence the Maker arranged in his favor. Everyone was focused on the royal party and even the guards would be distracted by the presence of such a high guest, he assumed. Nobody would miss him until he was at least a few miles away from the fortress.

But the Maker was not so gracious after all. As soon as Anders turned around the next corner he ran straight into the one person he right now despised almost as much as Rylock.

The Commander raised a questioning eyebrow at him whereas the rest of his expression remained carefully blank. Even if he had been able to read the man before, it would have been impossible for him now. Anders' thoughts were in a jumble. A part of him wanted to explain the situation, another part demanded to confront Ioran with his decision to alarm the Templars and a third part simply had the desire to run. His indecisiveness rendered him rooted to the spot and resulted in a long and uncomfortable silence.

There was a knowing look in the Commander's eyes that made Anders squirm with uneasiness. The sharp rebuke he expected, however, did not come. There were no accusations, no harsh words. Ioran also did not call for the guards to arrest him. Not that that would have been necessary, anyway. The man knew as well as Anders did that there was no way out for him. His escape was thwarted before it even began.

When Ioran finally spoke his voice was strangely neutral, even friendly.

"Good to see you, Anders. I take it you were on the way to go and greet the king?"

Ah, so he was the kind who liked to play games, Anders bitterly thought, the kind who enjoyed adding insult to injury. There was no other reason why someone would ask such a question in a situation like this. There was no way that blighted warden did not know that greeting the king had been the last thing on his mind.

"I take that for a yes," Ioran continued when he was denied an answer. "Since we are headed for the same destination we can as well go together, don't you think?"

A leather-gloved hand closed around his arm and gently pushed him forward. Anders did not resist. An overwhelming wave of hopelessness swept over him and choked every last bit of resistance. Panic, anxiety, discomfort, everything seemed to fall away from him, leaving only room for resignation and stoic calmness. He was about to meet his executioners.


End file.
